brave enough to die
by the-cloud-whisperer
Summary: Book 4 of Avatar Zuko follows Lu Ten's adventures during the war on Ba Sing Se. Nothing is fair in love and war. There's a lot of singing, writing, mutual pining, questionable battle sequences, and untold amounts of angst. You have been warned. Guaranteed happy ending, but we're talking very, very long-run here.
1. Children of War

**A/N:** This story picks up from just before Lu Ten has to go away to the war. Ozai is not the Fire Lord yet, and the Fire Royal Family is mostly happy and everything. The plot will continue throughout the war and Lu Ten's eventual not-death and the aftermath. Eventually, the timeline will meet up again with Zuko's story line, and more exciting things will happen. Apologies for the vagueness; I can't spoil my own story!

Title of the fic from "Somebody to Die For" by Hurts.

* * *

"Will you be Fire Lord one day, Lu Ten?"

The unexpected question catches him off guard, such that he nearly fails to block Zuko's next slash. He rights himself and goes on the offensive, pushing Zuko back several paces.

"I suppose, since my father will one day be Fire Lord, so I will too," he replies. It's crossed his mind before, but not in any great detail. The Fire Lord's throne room is a daunting place, unnecessarily dark and gloomy in spite of the ceiling-high flames. He can't imagine himself or his father sitting there.

"I think you would be a great one," Zuko says sincerely.

"Really? Why's that?" Not for the first time, Lu Ten feels a gaping wound in his heart stretch wider. His young cousin thinks the world of him, thinks he can do anything, and Lu Ten is about to betray his trust in a few weeks by leaving. For a really long time. Possibly forever.

"Because, you always take good care of me. You always listen when I complain about Azula. You're always nice to people even if they don't deserve it," Zuko lists, lips pursed in concentration. "You _care_ about people."

"Mostly you."

The firelight from the lit torches around the chamber gleams in Zuko's eyes as he smiles.

 _"He was going to kill Zuko when he was born," Aunt Ursa had once said of her husband. Lu Ten was fourteen, had stopped by her quarters to return several scrolls. He'd found her staring at a portrait of their family. "He would have, he nearly did. Sometimes I think he still wants to."_

 _Lu Ten had set the scrolls down, their words containing healing life and cloying death. What monster of a father could ever want to harm his child, his own flesh and blood?_

Prince Ozai, it seems. How could he ever think Zuko was lackluster or anything _but_ full of life and fire? It's better that such a man stays well away from the throne.

LLL

"Azula says that our dad would make a better Fire Lord than yours," Zuko says, his eyes somber now that it's time for them to part ways again.

Lu Ten frowns. Even though he's heard all about Azula's precociousness from Zuko, he doesn't think she was the first to come up with that idea. Could it be that Ozai has expressed some… treasonous ambitions?

 _"I would never have married him if he and your grandfather hadn't tracked my family down to our remote village. I'm the only grandchild of Avatar Roku. The Fire Sages foretold that the children of our mingled bloodlines would be immensely powerful."_

 _Vaguely, Lu Ten tries to remember if the scrolls had contained any recipes for protractedly painful and fatal poisons. No, they'd all been quick and untraceable. Shame._

 _"You should go, Lu Ten," she says. "I've said too much."_

 _"I won't tell anyone, Aunt Ursa," he promises._

 _"The palace has eyes and ears. Go quietly."_

He's wondered, since, why Fire Lord Azulon betrothed Roku's granddaughter to Prince Ozai, his second born. The obvious answer is that his elder son already had a wife and family…but Lu Ten thinks it might not be too far-fetched to surmise an ulterior motive, one that involves Ozai inheriting the throne.

"Lu Ten?" Zuko's querying voice draws him out of his thoughts. Quite possibly he's becoming paranoid, what with the palace eyes and ears. "I didn't mean to upset you. Azula was making stuff up to mess with me. She would be the worst Fire Lord out of all of us. She always lies."

Oh, Zuko. What he doesn't know will end up hurting him all the more. He pats Zuko's shoulder, more to ground himself than his cousin. "I'm not upset," he lies.

LLL

He dreams of the night the bandits attacked them. The autumn air is cold, and their blood colder as Zuko's ebbs out of him from the gash in his throat. Lu Ten can't move to reach him, but what would he do? What could he do except drown himself in Zuko's blood and hope there isn't a life after this one where he might have to atone for his guilt?

He dreams of a bridge spanning a gorge between two cliffs high in the air. He's standing next to someone, but he cannot turn to look. A horn sounds, and suddenly with a great quaking of the earth, a vast blue dragon erupts from the mountainside, its scales gleaming like the ocean shimmering beneath the rising sun. Behind them, another dragon, this one copper-red, snakes its way out to twine with the other in an endless circle.

The stranger wears a scabbard slung across his back, and the swords it bears are… impossibly similar to his own. What can this mean? He steps forward even as the other man turns to face him, and Lu Ten almost recoils. It's Zuko, but older, his face terribly scarred, from something or someone Lu Ten couldn't protect him from.

The blue dragon speaks with the voice of Fire Lord Azulon. "Accept your charge, Prince Lu Ten. Accept that your future lies in protecting your nation. Accept that your duty is to more than one lonely child."

"You cannot save him," the red dragon says, its voice the silver-tongued echo of Prince Ozai's. "Even if you return from the war that does not sleep, there will be nothing left of him to save."

Dragon fire surrounds them, burning white-hot like ribbons of lightning, hell-bent on ending them. The scene empties, and he dreams again.

He is surrounded by death. Soldiers of the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation lie scattered around him. There is blood on his swords, blood on his hands, blood in his mouth, blood in his throat as he dislodges his blade from the chest of another dead man. He lifts the visor of the man's helmet—Zuko's young, unlined face stares up at him.

Finally, mercifully, he wakes up with an aborted scream in his throat. It feels like dried blood, like it was all real. He breathes hard, lights a candle to dispel the shadows of creeping bandits and souls cut short too soon. Dawn's grey shimmer through the windows is light enough to keep him awake. No rest awaits him in sleep, anyhow.

If he closes his eyes, he can still see Zuko's lifeless face, so he doesn't. Staring blankly out the window, he starts to see his dreams superimposed on the sky outside. It's hopeless. He turns back to his desk, wonders if killing gets easier with time, and whether it's a good thing if it does. Before that, though, there's got to be a first time.

The sun is rising when a knock sounds on the door. It's a courtesy only; the servants know he's usually awake by now. "Come in."

His valet, Riku, enters, bearing a finely wrought metal chest. "Sir, this was delivered to the palace in the night with the instructions that it be brought directly to you."

"Who was the sender?" Lu Ten eyes the chest curiously. It's engraved with gold lion turtle carvings on a cobalt blue background.

"The messenger would not identify himself but only left one line that he said you would understand: All is one—"

"And one is all," Lu Ten finishes. The white lotus carved on the side of the box where a keyhole would normally be confirms it.

"What does it mean?" Riku asks. He frowns at Lu Ten, notices the dark circles under his eyes and the slight tremor of fingers tracing the white lotus. "Sir, are you all right?"

"No, but it's nothing a new day won't fix."

Riku bows and leaves. Lu Ten looks more closely at the white lotus carving. It seems to function like a knob that rotates both ways, but no matter how he turns it, he can't open the box. He rattles it slightly to try and figure out what's inside. The light, hollow tap of wood against metal rings inside, cushioned by something more like parchment or cloth—scrolls? Perhaps they'll tell him how to survive this war.

LLL

"Have you told Zuko yet?"

He sighs. "No, I… every time I try, I can't."

Ursa regards him softly, her eyes wistful but firm. A gentle breeze tickles the branches above them, the shadows of the leaves dappling her face. Spring is awakening; soon there will be apple blossoms dropping in the grass at their feet, but inside, he feels only the lingering chill of winter gone too soon.

"You must tell him soon. It's barely a week before you leave. You can't protect him forever."

Her words uncannily remind him of last night's nightmares, the voice of Ozai infiltrating his heart like early autumn frost, unexpected and deadly. He sits down at her feet, feeling small for a moment, and stares at the wind rippling the water on the pond.

"He'll be devastated. He's so young, it's not fair that I have to leave when he needs me so much."

She laughs, a hushed sound with a kind of choked mirth that is painful to hear. "What?" he demands.

"If you could hear yourself, child. You sound ancient."

" _Not_ a child. I'm seventeen," he mutters grumpily, aware that that makes him sound exactly like one.

"All the same, Lu Ten—have you ever thought that perhaps you need Zuko as much as he needs you?"

"I have," he says, suddenly very tired of this all. "Yes, I have, Aunt Ursa."

LLL

He tells Zuko. It nearly breaks him, breaks them both.

* * *

 **A/N:** I will still be publishing writing notes (it's going to get confusing, but I've done my best to label chapters so as not to misguide you), and they are located at this link: archiveofourown dot org /works/7019827/chapters/18822329


	2. Fight Fire With Fire

**LU TEN**

"Men of the 18th company, the road ahead of us is long and arduous. There is a chance that some of us will not return." Lu Ten paces before the ranks of soldiers, dozens upon dozens arrayed on the deck of the ship. He moves with false confidence, wondering if his agitated strides just make him look self-conscious. He's never addressed such a large group before, much less strangers, many of them older than he is.

"Remember why you fight." He lets them fill in the blanks themselves. Why do they fight? For the sake of their families? For love of their country? For the not insignificant paycheck, plus free room and board? It's not a bad deal, Lu Ten supposes, if you've no other livelihood. There's just the small matter of having to put your life down as a security deposit.

He traipses through the rest of his prepared words without much conscious thought. The waves of the harbor and open sea glint under the noon sun like the gleam of metal, swords and helmets. The men stare at the deck blankly as he swallows his dread and talks about the nobility of their profession and pursuits and the surety of the Fire Nation's victory.

"Please know, all of you, that as your captain, I am open to hearing any of your concerns and will do all there is in my power to remedy them. If I can help in any way, please make it known to me."

Several of the men look somewhat skeptical, even bewildered by his words. He knows what they must be thinking. Who is he to think he can understand or sympathize with them? Seriously, who thought this would be a good idea? Oh right, Fire Lord Azulon. When the Fire Lord proposes something, you generally don't argue.

His eyes search for the few who don't seem to be expressing open, muted disdain. One man towards the fore and right meets his gaze levelly. Lu Ten might have called him unremarkable at first glance and moved on. The two of them are of a height, but the other man somehow insinuates a broader, self-assured presence. It's something to do with the careless sweep of his unkempt fringe, the long graceful drop of his unbowed neck, perhaps (definitely) the playful twist of his dark eyebrows, a winsome arch that suggests infinite smugness about just having successfully stolen something—a loaf of bread? The royal crown? Lu Ten's breath? He loses himself for a moment flitting through the possibilities until someone clears their throat.

 _Snap to it, Lu Ten,_ spirits, _they're going to think you're crazy._ He chances a final glance at the man and his bright eyes like evening tide pools, one of which definitely just shut in a cheeky wink.

He caves and stares again. No, he's not imagining things; the man is smiling now, the curved slash of his mouth like the stroke of a brush penning secret love letters. Dear god. Lu Ten shakes his head in the hopes of dispelling his errant thoughts. This is war, and no time for passing infatuations. He has a company of men to attend to, and attachments will only hinder the rationality of his decisions.

Lu Ten dismisses the men hastily and waits for them to disperse before turning to face the sea again. He sucks in a long breath.

LLL

The men of his company are as varied as the stripes on a tigerdillo. There are two sets of twins—he comes upon Yin and Yang meditating by the foremast, Tu and Ao he encounters below decks trying to soothe some restless komodo rhinos. Xinbo, Xinran, and Xinrong are brothers who had been preparing for the civil service exam prior to enlisting; Lu Ten resolves to ask them for help decrypting the lock on the White Lotus box. Songzhen and Songtao are another pair of brothers from the upper class and also famous composers, it seems; they're accompanied by Kongming, who briefly acknowledges him but immediately turns back to a paisho game that he appears to be playing against himself. There are a handful of unrelated Lins, Chens, Wangs, and Lees (of course!)

He meets a man named Ren who's howling in pain from a stubbed toe; a man named Kai who can't seem to sit still, pacing to and fro on the deck; a man named Xia wrapped in three layers of furs ("the Earth Kingdom is cold and barren!" "…We're still in the Fire Nation." "I need to be prepared!"). Jianghui, a self-proclaimed swimming champion of ten villages, challenges Lu Ten to a breath-holding contest on the spot, which Lu Ten loses; Zhangwei challenges him to arm-wrestling, which he… also loses.

"Is there anything you're _not_ good at?" a thin man who curtly introduced himself as Sang demands. He and his friend Tsan have been watching critically the whole time. Lu Ten blinks at his surly tone. The man is clearly overcompensating for something. Lack of biceps definition? Pitch of voice? Facial hair? Combination of all of the above?

"As it happens, I'm not very good at pretending to be something I'm not," Lu Ten says lightly. Sang blushes and turns on his heel, muttering under his (?!) breath. Tsan follows.

"Don't mind him. He's just a bit… insecure," Tuanyuan, a rotund, cheerful man reassures Lu Ten. "He'll probably feel better after a good night's sleep and a nice hot breakfast."

"Yes, that's definitely what's wrong with him," Lu Ten just manages to restrain himself from snapping. He hopes the next lot he comes across is more pleasant.

Rusty Wok, Splintered Brush, Warped Door, Saucer, and Arrow are a posse of brothers and cousins employed as tailors before being recruited. Lu Ten is too baffled by their names to even attempt navigating their familial relations.

"So how did you end up with these names?" he asks, watching them load one of the cannons for a test shot.

Saucer rolls his eyes, and Arrow sniffs in disdain, though that might be due to the pungent smell of gunpowder. Warped Door answers for them, a little solicitously, the way you might address an irritatingly inquisitive child.

"You see, Captain, not all families can afford to give their children genteel names and elegant monikers. Where we're from, children are just another disposable asset. Would you name your kids after great kings and conquerors if you knew they might just keel over and die of hunger during their first winter? What a farce." He and Rusty Wok heft a huge cannonball and pop it in the muzzle of the artillery.

"And that's not to mention the spirits," Rusty Wok continues. "Spirits love children, especially babies, but they're not very bright. If you name your kid Precious Jewel or Auspicious Gold or some such high-minded nonsense, spirits will snatch it right out of the cradle. If you name it something useless, though—what spirit would want a rusty wok, or a splintered brush? What use would they have for a saucer without a teacup, or an arrow without a bow?"

"Our parents named us to protect us from spirits and grandiose self-importance, because that's all they could do for us," Splintered Brush says spitefully. "Yours didn't need to, because you're from the most powerful family in the world. What could anyone do to hurt _you,_ your Highness?" He lights the fuse, and they cover their ears as the cannon fires into the sea, like an elegy for all the children of families who couldn't save them from the cuts and scrapes of the merciless world.

 _Send me to fight in an endless war, and what do you know,_ Lu Ten thinks, but doesn't say. These men all volunteered. He supposes that wouldn't go down so well.

"Besides, you haven't met the Mings. Their family was _really_ into this whole name game," Splintered Brush says. "Ming Qian and Ming Hua: funeral money and funeral flowers. Worthless stuff you burn for dead people; what spirit would want that? Now that's my kind of parents."

Arrow waves to a trio of men standing near the starboard rail. They meander over, and Arrow introduces them. "The Dai brothers, Piao, Yao, Shang: the running joke in their family is that they're all going to die young and starving, as true artists do. They work in the theater business, makeup, props, that sort of thing."

"Art is its own reward," Yao says cheerily. Contrary to their family's reputation, he and his brothers look none the more dismal for their names.

"The art of war, no less," Shang jokes. "None of us ever thought, growing up, that we'd die on a battlefield, though."

Lu Ten excuses himself, feeling a little sick.

LLL

He paces the deck and does a mental tally of everyone he's met today; it comes out to just under fifty, but he lost track after the fourth Lee in a row. Lu Ten scans the deck for unfamiliar faces but doesn't find any.

The sun sets in the west, back the way they came, where home lies. He can make out the caldera faintly at the edge of the horizon and decides to climb to the crow's nest to watch it disappear. The platform rises almost fifty feet above deck, and the noise from below wipes out as he ascends. He's almost there when—

"I wondered when you'd finally come up here."

Lu Ten startles, losing his grip, but a hand reaches out and seizes his wrist, hauling him steadily in. Lu Ten looks up and catches the eyes of the man who winked at him earlier.

"What made you think I'd come up here at all?" he asks somewhat crossly as he tumbles into the crow's nest and straightens himself out.

"You're clearly uncomfortable among the men," his rescuer says, leaning against the mast, behind which he'd been hidden earlier. "Oh, they like you well enough as a person, though a few of them might hold out for a bit longer. But they don't know you as a captain yet. You're untested. They know that, and you know that."

"Great leaders don't spring fully formed from the womb," Lu Ten retorts, crossing his arms. "Everyone has to start somewhere."

"True. I should introduce myself. I'm Hanxin, from Kanto Island in the northeast; you wouldn't have heard of it."

"Actually, I've been there, just last year in fact. Best winter solstice fireworks I've ever seen."

Hanxin turns incredulous eyes on him. "Really? I'm surprised—no one in town knew the Fire Prince was at the festivities. That would have been something to see."

"Yes, well… I wasn't there as myself, just as… a regular person." He cringes as soon as he says it, but Hanxin laughs. The wind ruffles his hair, and the dying sun gently spends its last rays on his face, casting it in mellow gold before the sky darkens into night.

"Well, keep it up, Captain. From what I've seen today, you're not too bad at being regular." He nods, a little too deeply to rule out its being a facetious bow, and starts down the ladder.

"Are you… _dismissing me?"_ Lu Ten calls after him. Of all the people he's spoken with today, this outright flippancy is…

…oddly enthralling.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Captain, but it's getting late, and I think you'll agree that while we're still in safe waters, there's no need nor reason for two pairs of eyes up here all alone." He winks up at Lu Ten again. "People might talk."

Lu Ten releases a shaky breath after Hanxin reaches the deck, his figure fading into the shadows of the evening. Of all the perils he expected to face during the war, this—whatever this is—was not among them.

LLL

After about three weeks at sea, they're finally in sight of the Earth Kingdom. The ship steers a course for the Hui River. It's unlikely that they'll be attacked, but they have instructions to be on the lookout for any hostile activity. The Earth Kingdom garrisons have raised their guards now that more Fire Nation troops are pouring into the war at Ba Sing Se. They make it within a mile of the mouth of the river without incident.

"Well, this is it," Tuanyuan says, looking apprehensively at the empty cliffs on the far shore. "We've made it to the Earth Kingdom, but nobody seems to be home. Lucky us."

" _Don't_ say that," Ming Hua hisses. "You'll rain down curses on us instead. The universe _loves_ proving lucky people wrong."

Just then, there is movement from afar, and soldiers issue from the lower levels of the fort and stream out along the garrison walls, ready to defend their territory. A roar goes up among the troops, and in short order, catapults are loaded, and doom seems imminent.

"Now you've done it!" The Ming brothers look about ready to collapse. "We're all going to die!" Around them, everyone echoes the sentiment, except—

"Listen, everyone!" Lu Ten's voice cuts through the babble like steel. "We are _not_ going to die today. Remain calm."

LLL

The ambush was so sudden; Lu Ten barely has time to think as he reactively issues orders. If he had, he might have marveled at the way the men leap into action at his words, like clockwork. If he had, he would have shaken his head at the calm he exudes, in spite of the strength of his voice. They may not make it out of this bottleneck, after all.

"Wok, Piao, Hanxin and teams, man the ballistae! Tu and Ao, we need more power in the boiler room! And radio the 19th, they're following us and they'll need to be prepared! Everyone else, take cover!"

"It's _Rusty_ Wok, thank you very much!"

"Be glad I didn't go with Rusty!"

The first enemy missiles strike the water about a hundred yards shy of them, and they start coming more quickly even as the ship builds speed to escape them. The earthbenders throw up dust covers, making it impossible to gauge where exactly their artillery stand. Huge boulders ricochet off the hull like hailstones, and one as wide as three men shoulder to shoulder bounces off the bow, knocking either Yin or Yang to the floor, Lu Ten can't spare his eyes for the moment.

They return the fire in kind, Wok and company frantically loading the cannon. Lu Ten paces the deck, absently clearing the smoke from their fire. He can tell they're not hitting the right targets, because the attacks don't cease or even level out.

"There's too many of them!" Kongming shouts over the barrage. "We can't take them all out fast enough, but we'll be destroyed before we get to safety."

One pocket of dust clears, swayed by the wind, and Lu Ten catches sight of a huge welded metal tower and platform not far beyond the vast expanse of the fort. A gas rig—and their way out of this death trap.

"If we had more firepower and could actually see past the dust clouds, we might attempt it, but it's not looking good!" Kongming continues to shout, even though he's right next to Lu Ten at the starboard side, ducking behind the railing.

"I'll be the judge of that," Lu Ten says, but he feels the weight of his words this time. "In the meantime, please don't shout, you're causing a panic."

Hanxin's cannon is closest. He looks over as Lu Ten approaches, bracing himself as they fire once again. "Captain, what are your orders? We'll keep holding out if that's all we can do."

"How far can you make a strike?"

"As far as necessary, but it's not the distance that's an issue, it's this damned smoke screen."

Straightening up, he lifts his voice. "Cannons, aim for the gas rig! Spare no firepower! Trust me on this—one chance is all we have! Fire on my command!"

This can work. It has to.

"Now!"

LLL

From afar, the explosion is beautifully cataclysmic. A burst of brightest fire, nearly white in the center of its intensity, the edges rounded out with plumes and curls of redder flame and darkest smoke. Huge sheets of rock fly out radially from the epicenter, smashing into the walls of the fort, burying everything in rubble, all in a matter of a heartbeat.

A very long heartbeat later, the explosion is much closer than he would like it to be.

The explosion has flung a huge flaming missile across the water towards them, ore heated to impossible temperatures by the gas. It's gargantuan, at least a third as long as the ship and headed straight for midship.

"Captain!" Hanxin to his right steps towards him, as if to shield him from the inevitable impact. But what good will saving one man do?

Act, don't think. He moves with the fire within him, lets it well up until he knows it's enough, and channels it out, hands outstretched as if to pass judgment on the far shore, just in time. A seam of flame strikes the burning rock in midair, not a hundred yards from the ship it would certainly have obliterated. It shatters into small fragments that plunk into the water around them, some grazing the ship, but not enough to damage it.

The smoke around them clears, and while the far shore remains shrouded in dust, the Earth army's barrage is silent. They continue to sail up the river unhindered as the men climb out from under their defenses. Lu Ten turns to see most of the company staring in awe at him.

"And that, everyone, is how you fight fire with fire."

* * *

 **HANXIN**

Later, at their evening mess, the crew waxes exultant over their captain and his miraculous firebending.

"He's just amazing. He was like a human cannon, but with more firepower and aestheticism," Wok enthuses.

"Aesthe-what?" Saucer asks. "Where do you even learn such words, brother?"

"It means artistic beauty and excellence." Wok points his chopsticks at Saucer sternly. "Of course, you would know little of such things."

Kongming snorts. "I doubt you know much more, Rusty."

"Well excuse you! I know you're still angry that our noble captain berated you for losing your cool—"

"All right, men, let's just go back to gushing about our noble captain and how he's so brave and aesthetic, all right?" Tuanyuan, ever the peacemaker, intercedes.

"I didn't realize he could firebend like that," Xinbo says. "I'd assumed that his skills were subpar, and as such, he was relegated to a non-bending company."

"That's what I find suspicious, though," Songzhen says, a frown gracing his pinched features. "He's the son of General Iroh, the Dragon of the West. He could have had his pick of the troops, but he chose to serve with us, and Agni knows we're not the best and brightest. I can't help but think that perhaps he's suffered some disgrace with the Fire Lord, causing him to be assigned to such a lowly position."

"Speak for yourself," Wok says defensively. "He's a good man." Others in their circle murmur their assent. "Who cares if we're probably below his pay grade?"

Hanxin leaves them to their gabbing and walks up to the deck. It's empty except for… well, the very person on his mind at the moment. Lu Ten is there, training not with firebending, but with a pair of dual swords, their blades twins of each other. He moves effortlessly, each sword one half of an intricate dance. His steps are reminiscent of the fluid way he moved to strike down the flaming boulder about to obliterate them. Hanxin watches, transfixed, as he ducks between the ballistae, dueling an invisible enemy, never gaining but never ceding, always tempering his steps forward with coy retreats. He is a study in efficiency and clean lines, no gaudy, over-expensive displays of showmanship. He fights like no one is watching, like he truly has someone or something before him to defeat.

 _What are you fighting? Where does your fear stem from?_ These are questions without answers.

* * *

 **A/N:** _Very_ detailed notes on the ridiculous amounts of made-up names in this chapter, hehe: archiveofourown dot org /works/7019827/chapters/19437865


	3. Eyes of the Forgotten

They stop just before reaching the Yuanfen Sea to refill their supplies of fresh water and let the rhinos stretch their legs for a bit. The Earth Kingdom is green with vast forests, the trees huger than any Lu Ten has ever seen. They look tall and broad enough to support an entire village in their branches. He feels a breeze on the back of his neck, but the tops of the trees hardly even stir in the wind.

"An entire army could lose themselves in this forest," Hanxin says, standing beside him.

"Yes, let's avoid that." Just then, the wind changes direction.

"Something's burning. A forest fire?"

Lu Ten smells the acrid smoke too, though he can't see a source. "No, birds would scatter from the trees if that were the case."

Closer to the edge of the forest, Tuanyuan turns back and shakes his head. "It smells like charred meat, and I'm not talking about barbeque komodo rhino."

"What, then?"

"Human flesh."

LLL

They march through the forest as quickly as the dense trees will allow; even after leaving half the company behind to guard the ship, it's slow going. A well-trodden path emerges out of the leaf litter, and the charred smell grows stronger as they follow it.

"Maybe it was a bonfire gone out of control," Zhangwei speculates. "You know those Earth Kingdom folk don't know how to handle fire properly. Probably a huge accident."

 _"It was an accident," Zuko says, clipping back the pain in his voice as he lets Lu Ten bandage his hand. He'd gotten ahead of himself during practice, made a flame far too large and flagrant for his small hands to contain._

 _"I know, Zuko," Lu Ten says. He wonders if the town's apothecary will have the herbs for a poultice Aunt Ursa taught him. For a burn of this magnitude, Zuko is letting far too little pain show._

 _"I'm sorry."_

 _Lu Ten sighs. "It's okay. I'm not angry with you. Just promise me you'll be careful in the future."_

 _Zuko hugs him tightly around the middle. "I promise."_

They reach the edge of the forest, and Lu Ten is the first to cross into the open air beyond, at the crest of a hill. One look at the valley below and it is clear that this was no accident.

A village lies burning, houses crumpled, fences torn down, but the smoke rises mainly from the center of the village, a wide open square piled high with the blackened remains of the people who once lived there. Limbs lie askew at gruesome angles like tangled firewood. At this distance, Lu Ten is sharply relieved that he can't see their faces.

They stand in shocked silence for several moments, until ragged breaths make their way towards the hilltop. A young boy Lu Ten estimates to be about Zuko's age runs pell-mell towards them, or more likely away from the village. He doesn't seem to realize where he's going until he runs smack into Lu Ten, whose arms go out to catch him reflexively.

"Whoa, easy there." He tries to calm the boy, grasping his shoulders and kneeling to eye level. The boy looks up, rubbing at his eyes dark with raw terror. His clothes are torn and sooty, his hair wild and untamed. Running alone in the forest, it's not difficult to surmise what happened. Village razed to the ground, parents dead or dying, alone in the world as a child. _Spirits save him._

"What's your name, kid?"

"J-Jet," he answers, shaking nearly too hard to speak. He starts to struggle again, twisting futilely. "Please, p-please don't, just let me _go_ —"

"I'm not going to hurt you, Jet," Lu Ten says gently. "You're safe with us, I promise."

"They're looking for me," Jet whimpers, "they got everyone else! Mom and dad and my sisters and our dog and everyone, now they're after me too!"

"Who's they?" Lu Ten scans his memory for the deployment records—no units are stationed in this area permanently, to his knowledge. Troops pass through with orders to stop only for water and fuel, not to lay waste to peaceful villages. "Fire Nation soldiers? Like us?"

Jet nods. "They're still here! They're gonna get me!"

"Which unit could have committed such an atrocity?" Hanxin wonders.

"It's not atrocity if they were under orders. War is war," Kongming defends.

Before they can argue further, the sound of cavalry turns them to face the forest and oncoming soldiers. The thunderous bellow of war rhinos rocks the trees as they approach. Jet freezes, and Lu Ten instinctively sets one hand on the hilt of his swords over his shoulder as five men on armored rhino steeds burst out among them.

On the right flank rides a man with an iron mask obscuring his whole face, and a man with the scarlet tattoos of the Yuyan Archers spread across the bridge of his nose. To the left, a burly engineering type and another in heavy armor sporting a _guan dao_ descend. And to their fore is a mountain of a man with a strangely segmented, feathered ponytail and thin, drooping mustache, clearly the leader. He spots Jet cowering next to Lu Ten and leers at him.

"Ah, there he is. Such an evasive little brat, but we caught up in the end." He dismounts and walks towards them. "I must thank you for holding on to him for us, Captain. We were… ah, otherwise occupied." He gestures knowingly towards the burning village, clearly expecting Lu Ten to acknowledge and even approve his handiwork.

"Who are you, and on whose orders did you destroy that village?" Lu Ten asks, cold and without a hint of servility. The men shift and mutter among themselves nervously. It's clear that Featherhead outranks Lu Ten, but he'll swallow fire before deferring to such a monstrous man.

Featherhead sneers and crosses his arms over his broad chest. "You must be new to the war, Captain. No other reason you wouldn't know me, Colonel Mongke of the Rough Rhinos, the Fire Nation's most elite slash-and-burn squadron. We answer to General Iroh himself; perhaps you've heard of him?"

… _Father ordered this attack? But why?_

"Hand over the boy, and we'll have no more of this wasting time," Mongke orders, moving closer as if to seize Jet. Lu Ten immediately steps in front of Jet to shield him entirely, even as Hanxin moves to flank his side. He's struck suddenly by the memory of the night the bandits attacked, and the fear in Zuko's eyes as he pushed his young cousin away from the fight. This isn't so different. The goal is the same—defend those who cannot defend themselves.

"Think about what you're doing and why you're doing it," Mongke growls in displeasure. "The Rough Rhinos are nothing if not thorough. Your commanding officer will hear about this insubordination."

"I'll be sure to inform him myself."

"Lu Ten, let it go. It's not worth your position. Just give the boy up!" Kongming urges.

"Quiet, Kongming. My father will understand."

Mongke narrows his eyes as comprehension dawns upon hearing Lu Ten's name and bloodline. " _You're_ Iroh's son?" he asks incredulously. "For shame! To think that the Dragon of the West sired a dishonorable, cowardly weakling."

"Then show me what it means to be brave, Colonel," Lu Ten goads. His pulse is pounding in his ears, egging him on to do something incomparably stupid. "Your honor for the life of an innocent boy. What do you say?"

"You fool. You dare challenge me?!" Mongke steps forward suddenly but stops short when Lu Ten's men form ranks spontaneously in front of him, their pikes and halberds interlocking and blocking his advance.

"You'd better think twice," Tuanyuan menaces, all lightness gone from his voice. "Not another step," Zhangwei echoes. Beside him, Kongming makes a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat but says nothing. The others stand firm, having come together in Lu Ten's defense like a well-oiled machine. In spite of their loyalty, his unit is hugely outmanned here.

"Stand down, all of you," he orders. They remain steadfast. "I said, stand down!"

They reluctantly separate, standing to either side of the faceoff between Lu Ten and the Rough Rhinos. "Normally Agni Kai requires fifty paces lengthwise, but we can keep this a little more intimate, don't you think?" Lu Ten challenges.

"Captain," Hanxin says under his breath, cautioning him against excessive bravado. Talk never got anyone anywhere.

"I know what I'm doing," he lies. He doesn't really have a plan to match his swagger, though. This is bad. "Just hold on to Jet for me. And my swords." He hands them over to Hanxin, who takes them with slightly more reverence than warranted—they're not even half as fine as Master Piandao's.

"You're making the wrong choice by testing me," Mongke says. "It's terrible that they let boys go to war these days."

Ironically, Lu Ten agrees. Aloud, he says, "Age is no indicator of the knowledge of right and wrong. You're the perfect example of that, Colonel Mongke. Now, are we going to stand around all day, or are we going to fight?"

"Vachir, see to it that the boy doesn't get away when Captain Lu Ten here bites the dust," Mongke addresses the Yuyan archer. He nods and nocks an arrow to his bow.

Mongke strikes first, his fist slamming into the ground like an earthbender, sending a wiry line of fire towards Lu Ten. He dodges, pivoting on one hand and launching his attack with both feet, pushing out hard as if diving from a cliff. Rather than duck, Mongke braces himself and divides the flames around him, returning the fire in equal measure. Lu Ten pushes himself forward: to give up any ground, for even a moment, would start him down the slippery slope towards defeat. Mongke's strength is raw and uncensored, unlike the restraint of dueling with Lu Ten's father and teachers. They are fighting now as truthfully as two firebenders can.

Attack, parry, step forward, duck, roll to the side, up again, repeat. Neither of them can gain a significant advantage over the other. The minutes pass, and Lu Ten's arms ache from holding them parallel to the ground in defense. Mongke glowers at him, feathers a little askew, mustache glossy with sweat. Clearly he thought he'd be having an easy time of it, Lu Ten thinks with pride.

They come to a natural caesura as Lu Ten finishes redirecting Mongke's offense and pauses a moment before his own. A small gasp sounds behind him, and he instinctively diverts his attention towards Jet—an unwise move, as he finds out next. Mongke delivers a monumental blast right at that moment, as if he'd just been warming up before. It's too quick for Lu Ten to do anything but absorb the worst of the flames with his own. The pressure behind the attack physically slams him into the ground, and the sky gets very dark for a second.

He blinks back the dizziness and throws himself into a clumsy form, narrowly missing another attack. "Have you learned your lesson yet? How to be afraid?" Mongke taunts, stalking towards him.

"You're not a very good teacher, Colonel." He scrambles up quickly. "Don't you think a student should learn by example?"

"And whose fault is that, that I'm not sufficiently afraid of you, Captain?"

Lu Ten doesn't bother to dignify that with an answer, but the Colonel isn't finished.

"You have no one to blame but your father, boy. He's clearly coddled you in his old age and neglected to teach you the ways of a true master."

 _Oh no, you didn't._ He feels his blood cool, his heart still. This is how his father taught him, no matter what Mongke thinks.

 _Separate the positive and negative energy inside of you. Joy and anger, peace and strife._ He feels it all circling inside of him, diverging into two pools, light and dark. Mongke steps back to prepare another attack, but as the air around Lu Ten begins to spark and flicker, he stops short.

Lu Ten smiles passionlessly, not feeling at all like himself. "Scared of lightning?" he mocks, before he lets positive and negative come crashing back together like high tide breaking on the rocks.

Electricity crackles from his fingertips, illuminating them all in an eerie glow. He gathers the bolt of lightning and prepares to cast judgment: the colonel's end is inevitable. The lightning all but leaves his fingers, ready to fork its way into Mongke's heart, but then several things happen at once, blurring into a continuous whirl of sound and sensation.

A heavy weight barrels into his side, knocking him to the ground again. The whistle of an arrow past his head and the snap of discharged lightning, both deafening in his ears. A grunt of pain, a body hitting the ground, a child's terrified sobs, his men exclaiming in tumult, the nervous pawing of spooked rhinos, the warmth of another body resting against his own.

He sits up quickly, gathers his senses. "Hanxin?" For it is he who knocked Lu Ten out of the way of the oncoming arrow that Vachir loosed in defense of the colonel.

Mongke lies motionless, the Rough Rhinos gathered around him, and Lu Ten thinks with a jolt that he must be dead. Then he groans and struggles to rise, cradling the side of his head with one hand. A dark weal stretches along his hairline, and part of his hair and feathers have been singed off. The lightning missed him, just barely.

"I couldn't let you just throw your life away, either of you," Hanxin says quietly beside him. "Although I did fail to fulfill my orders, so I suppose some discipline is in order."

"What?" Lu Ten frowns, wondering if he's heard right—Hanxin just saved his life but wants a reprimand?

"Jet got away," Hanxin explains. "The lightning frightened him, and the archer was poised to shoot. He ran, and I don't think we'll catch up to him again. I'm sorry."

Lu Ten shakes his head. "Don't be. He'll have to find his own way." He rises to face the Rough Rhinos. "This match is forfeit," he declares. "A soldier's honor rests with his captain, Mongke. Think about that the next time you let your men loose on the world."

Mongke manages a half-hearted glare in his direction, but seems too weak for words. The Rough Rhinos usher him onto his steed, and Vachir passes Lu Ten a cold stare as they retreat hastily. When they're gone, the men gather around him, all afraid to break the grim silence. He sighs, musters his strength, knowing what he must do and say.

"Let it be known, that the 18th company will never stand for such flagrant abuse of its power," he declares, his voice heavy with emotion. "I will not condone the slaughter of civilians and the ransacking of their homes, even if it is sanctioned by the Fire Lord himself. There exists a higher authority than any sovereign in this world, and that is the duty to do good and not evil. In this, trust me, and I will not lead you astray. Fail me, and I will renounce you for all time. Am I understood?"

LLL

They return to the ship in grave silence. Lu Ten lets the men relay the news to those who weren't present. He would rather not revisit the entire ordeal again.

He retreats to his quarters, never mind the earliness of the hour. It's no use, though. His rest is racked by nightmares of the day's events, grossly transformed: Jet writhing in flames as Colonel Mongke laughs, Jet running away only to be shot down, cruel arrows sprouting from his back like misplaced flowers, Jet running away only to turn around and change into Zuko, who asks him, _"Why did you leave me? Why couldn't you have stayed?"_

It's likely just past midnight by the time he gives up and rises from bed, judging by the height of the moon in the sky, but the main deck is deserted. He climbs the ladder to the crow's nest, and this time, he's not surprised when a familiar voice greets him.

"Shift change isn't for another hour, you know."

"We're in enemy territory this time, so I'd say there's no harm in an extra pair of eyes." Lu Ten slides down to the floor and stares blankly at the railing in front of him.

"We've got to stop running into each other like this, though," Hanxin says teasingly. His smile is wide and effusive even in the weak light of the torch in the bracket behind him. "What if you fall off the ladder again and I don't catch you in time?"

"Haha. Is it really your shift right now? It seems too much of a coincidence that I'm stuck up here with you again," Lu Ten responds in kind with a joviality that goes no deeper than his words. He rests his chin heavily on his hands.

"No, actually. Kongming looked like he was ready to drop, so I relieved him halfway through. I have the next watch, too." Hanxin's expression turns serious again in reaction to Lu Ten's bearing. "What about you? Can't sleep?"

"…no," Lu Ten admits. "Today has been… trying."

"I'll say," Hanxin sympathizes. "It's not every day that you see a village burned down, duel the man responsible, and nearly get killed for your pains."

That reminds Lu Ten. "I meant to thank you earlier today, for saving my life. If not for your quick thinking, I would be dead."

Hanxin shrugs. "Reflex, nothing more. You were quite a force of nature, too. I've never seen anyone bend lightning so skillfully."

"I actually haven't done it many times. It's… more lethal than I prefer."

"What's your weapon of choice, then?"

"My swords," Lu Ten says immediately. "What about you?"

"My voice." Hanxin laughs gently at Lu Ten's puzzled look. "One of these days you'll get to hear it at its deadliest."

"I'm not sure I want to know."

"I was a musician, back in Kanto. I sang, mostly, played the lute sometimes. There wasn't a lot of money in it."

Lu Ten recalls busking with Zuko with a wan smile. "I can imagine. Is that why you joined the army?"

"No. I believe music is meant to bring joy to the listener, not cash to the creator. So I asked myself, where is joy most needed? And I answered myself, on the battlefield, where everyone is dying their separate deaths together. That's why I joined."

In the heavy pause that follows, Lu Ten prays that Hanxin doesn't ask him why he joined. Let him assume that it was for glory, for honor, and not for lack of choice in the face of his family's expectations. Somehow, though, he feels Hanxin can guess.

"You should go back to bed, Captain. No use in losing sleep over a lost child."

Lu Ten makes a contrary sound in the back of his throat, too uninspired to even attempt speech.

"Or sit there and pass out, whatever you prefer. Don't blame me if you catch a cold, though."

He tries to hum his assent, but it gets caught in his throat amid a sudden wave of emotion.

 _"Lu Ten, are you going to die?" Zuko asks, genuinely worried as Lu Ten continues to impersonate a hacksaw with his raging cough._

 _"No, I'm not," Lu Ten grits out between heaving coughs. He manages to down a few gulps of water before settling back into bed._

 _"You're going to die," Zuko concludes. "And it's all my fault." Lu Ten had given him his extra blankets two nights before, because Zuko was cold and the fire wasn't enough. Then it rained, and one thing led to another, ultimately resulting in Lu Ten being laid low. He'd coughed up (haha, get it?) enough money for a couple nights' stay at an inn. The innkeeper, an ancient but kindly lady, had made them some kind of vile stew of ocean kumquats that was surprisingly bracing._

 _Lu Ten sighs. "It's not your fault. If one of us has to get sick, I'd rather it be me. You're still little, Zuko, and you'd have a harder time of it than I would if you caught a cold."_

 _Zuko pouts. "I wish it were me instead. At least then you would care for me. I don't know how to keep you from dying."_

Lu Ten lies down, pillowing his arms behind his head. "I think I'll take you up on that," he says, closing his eyes.

"All right. I'll make sure no one sneaks up here to kill you and wake you up when my watch ends."

"Sounds good."

He skims the border between sleep and consciousness, so he isn't sure if Hanxin is actually singing or if that's just his mind making things up.

 _Leaves from the vine_

 _Falling so slow_

 _Like tiny, fragile shells_

 _Drifting on the foam_

 _Little soldier boy_

 _Comes marching home_

 _Brave soldier boy_

 _Comes marching home_

What if he doesn't come marching home, though? Zuko was right.

 _I don't know how to keep you from dying._

 _Truth be told, Zuko, I don't know either._

* * *

 **HANXIN**

He thinks he understands now. Between the Rough Rhinos, and Jet, and the lightning, it's become apparent to him. Lu Ten is afraid of what he can become. Hanxin watches his captain's calm repose and resolves to show him what he really is. A man among men, a light in the moral darkness of this war, and nothing at all like what he fears.

* * *

 **LU TEN**

They cross the Yuanfen Sea without incident and arrive on the far shore well ahead of schedule. From this point forward, they proceed on foot and reach the Fire Nation army's main dispatching headquarters within two days' march. The first thing Lu Ten does after settling the men into camp is head straight for the biggest, grandest tent tucked far back in the camp. He has words for his father, and he doesn't particularly care if the general is in an important war meeting: he has to have them out.

Fortunately, all meetings for the day seem to be adjourned, and the guard at the entrance admits him immediately. "Captain Lu Ten to see you, sir."

He registers a split-second look of surprise on General Iroh's face before he composes himself. "Lu Ten, what a pleasure. I trust your journey went smoothly?"

"As well as could be hoped for," he hedges. His father hears his implicit unease, of course.

"What troubles you, my son?" Iroh puts down his brush with care, prepared to give him his full attention.

"Father… a fortnight ago, when we reached the neck of the Hui River, we happened upon one of your associates, Colonel Mongke."

"Happened upon? That sounds foreboding."

Lu Ten shakes his head. "Our encounter was… less than auspicious. We met just after he burned down an entire Earth Kingdom village and slaughtered all its people. He left nothing untouched."

Iroh steeples his fingers and looks levelly up at his son. "And?"

"…and what?" The words burst from his throat without restraint. "He said that you ordered the raid, that you gave the command for that village to be destroyed!" His father does not look away or react in surprise at all. "Well?"

"I did give the order." Iroh's face is like carven stone. Lu Ten thinks part of his soul may have withered at this cold-blooded pronouncement. "My instructions to Colonel Mongke were to prepare the land for your arrival. Dozens of ships will be following yours up the river in the weeks to come. I needed a light cavalry unit to ensure your safe passage."

"So your instructions included killing unarmed farmers and their families?"

"Admittedly, Mongke took my words farther than I had intended. I only meant for him and his men to patrol the coastal areas and quell any insurrections as needed, not to actively terrorize the countryside."

"He's not going to be satisfied with that. He's a cowardly man who draws his strength from dominating the weak." Lu Ten is nearly spitting with rage now. "Bring a fair fight to him and he crumbles—that's why he goes and seeks out villages to annihilate before they can gather their arms against him. He's spineless, untested, and unfit to serve you."

"What did you do?" His father looks wary now. "Don't tell me you challenged him."

"Well, I can't do that, because I did challenge him," Lu Ten says vehemently. "He came out short of his honor that day. I only wish we had arrived sooner to stop him."

"Lu Ten, that was incredibly irresponsible of you," Iroh exclaims. "If he had defeated you, you would have lost face before your men as well as any chance of commanding them with respect. You have to pick your fights wisely."

"What about you, Father? Do you pick your fights wisely? Do you plan to break the spirits of these people so that when it comes time to break their bodies, you hardly need lift a finger?" He's never talked to his father like this; it speaks volumes as to how rattled the encounter with Mongke left him. "There was a child, a little boy we found, the only survivor of the hell his village was reduced to. Is that what we want to rule, when we defeat the Earth Kingdom for once and for all? Empty childhoods and the remnants of our savagery?"

Iroh's eyes are sad now, and as Lu Ten stops to catch his breath after his tirade, he thinks that perhaps his father understands more than he thinks. But that will not return Jet's innocence to him, nor raise the ashes in the village square to life again.

"Lu Ten, my son. Your heart is mighty, but I fear it cannot last if you indulge it so," Iroh says gravely. He stands and walks around his desk to stand before Lu Ten. "I know how you feel, and I do emphasize to my subordinates that they are to spare the lives of innocent citizens and only fight against the army proper. But war is not so simple. On the battlefield, many that live deserve death. Some that die deserve life, but we cannot give it to them."

"No, I see all too clearly which one we _are_ able to dole out," Lu Ten says bitterly.

"Lu Ten, the people of the Earth Kingdom are diverse and strong. They are persistent and enduring." Iroh clasps his shoulder in comfort, but it feels like a heavy chain. "The philosophers of old once said, 'When we hit our lowest point, we are open to the greatest change.' No matter how many deaths we sow among these people, they will reap them back from us tenfold. We may all but wipe them out, but they will spring back. They will not be easy to defeat."

 _That is no excuse to cut them down,_ Lu Ten thinks, but he can tell that the discussion is coming to a close. "There's no need to be modest, father. You needn't credit that saying to the philosophers of old if you thought of it yourself."

"Have a care for yourself and your men, Lu Ten," Iroh says, smiling slightly. He grips his upper arm briefly in farewell and turns back to his war desk, an implied though courteous dismissal. Sowing death is busy work.

Lu Ten leaves in silence. He does not see his father again for a long time.

* * *

 **A/N** : So, I'm kind of stupidly proud of myself for coming up with this plot twist. It's a small world, and it's completely plausible. Zuko and Jet are canonically the same age. Here, Lu Ten leaves for the war when Zuko is eight; Jet's parents were killed by the Fire Nation when he was eight, more specifically by Colonel Mongke and the Rough Rhinos as seen in his flashbacks in "Lake Laogai".

Jet and Lu Ten will meet again in the very distant future; stay tuned.

Chapter notes: Archiveofourown dot org/works/7019827/chapters/19600822


	4. On Rebirth

**A/N:** I'm going to put some timestamps in these chapters because it is a little hard to tell how much time has passed otherwise. Indicators in _italics_ at the beginning of each chapter or section will tell how much time has passed since they left the Fire Nation (e.g., 3 months means they left the Fire Nation 3 months ago). Hope that helps!

* * *

 _Three months_

They remain at the training camp for about a month before Colonel Shinu deems their expertise sufficient for fieldwork.

"You'll be patrolling the northwest corridor, hindering any new Earth Kingdom recruits trying to join the front lines," he explains, picking up a scroll from his writing desk to hand to Lu Ten. It unrolls to reveal a map marked with the territory they have to cover. It's a discouragingly large swath of land spanning hundreds of miles in the foothills of a huge mountain range.

"I assume others will be joining us as time wears on?"

"Unlikely." Shinu crosses his arms, leans back in his chair, the picture of unwelcoming. "There are a few units farther north that will touch base with you, but other than that, you're on your own. Most of our new recruits will be heading straight to the wall. The Earth King's been putting out his feelers recently and enforcing conscription orders in the far reaches of his kingdom, so we need to put a halt to it. Don't do anything rash. There's more at stake here than petty pride and misplaced sentiment."

Lu Ten winces, nervously shifts his posture to the other foot; he feels once again like his seven-year-old self being reprimanded by his teacher for fouling up a situation with good intentions. No doubt word has reached Shinu of the encounter with Mongke. He probably thinks Lu Ten is some kind of hotheaded firebrand, too much of a liability to trust with anything important.

"Yes, sir. And what about the enemy soldiers we capture? Are we to use…terminal force?" He wishes he could say that without such a queasy voice, given that he practically knows the answer.

"What do you think, Captain?" Shinu asks, a rhetorical question, harsh in its delivery. He taps the surface of his desk impatiently with grating nails (too long, Lu Ten thinks absently, hasn't seen action in exactly that long). "The value of all lives is relative. Think of war as commerce. Your profit lies in protecting your assets and destroying others'. Remember that."

He nods, turns to go, but Shinu's gold-fingered words nudge him the wrong way, too much so to hold back. It's as if Zuko was 95% of his impulse control. Now that he's left his dear cousin and home behind, all this pent-up frustration tumbles out irrevocably. He pauses at the exit.

"I never was much good with money, sir. But I'll try my best."

The nails grate still more tightly in irritation. " _Your_ best is not enough. Your best has to be better than anyone else's best."

* * *

They wend their way northward, following the broad Maple River's curves. A mid-spring chill rustles the air; it's not unpleasant. The sun shines mildly down on them, as if too timid to cause them any real inconvenience. The men are in high spirits. So far the war for them has been just as it was lusciously described back home in the recruitment barracks: full of glorious Fire Nation victories. As far as they are concerned, they can't lose. All is right with the world.

Lu Ten can't help but disagree privately. Everything is off-kilter and out of sorts. Somehow, he's inexplicably reminded of the months he spent wandering the Fire Nation with Zuko, but with a far rowdier, mismatched troop. Most differentially, they come in the name of war.

"What can we expect from our first battle, Captain?"

Shang is the youngest of the Dai brothers, and Lu Ten suspects he is in fact too young to be here—fourteen, fifteen at the oldest? He must have begged Piao and Yao to let him come, and Lu Ten knows how impossible it is to resist young eyes shining with liquid hope and admiration, not yet dulled by life. He's maybe three years old than Shang. By god, he feels ancient, but not timeless. No, he feels every one of the long years that he's bound to spend in this war.

"Will there be earthbenders? Piao said the earthbending captains ride badgermoles into battle. They eat dirt, and if you cut their limbs off, they grow back from clay!"

"Yes, and they also cause earthquakes when they pass gas," Zhangwei adds helpfully, overhearing Shang's naïve queries.

"I fear you may be confusing them with giant earthworms," Lu Ten says. "Rest assured, Shang, we will not be facing any such creatures."

"But where's the fun in that?"

Fun? Is that even a word, out here where death is never far away? Is there any joy to be bought when the only currency going around is life, measured in weeks and months, not years? He feels his swords at his back, seemingly heavier than gold, mere instruments of commerce.

A few dozen yards ahead of them, he can hear Hanxin and the others singing, though he can't make out the words. He should probably tell them to quiet down or risk alerting enemy spies, but… Hanxin was right. Here is where joy is most needed, freely given and freely taken, whether through music, or through being close to loved ones, or through the knowledge that this is, in a way, his family now. These are the ones he has been tasked to protect. He failed with Zuko, with Jet, but by Agni, he will not fail the 18th company. He vows it to himself, Shang with his searching eyes bearing silent witness.

* * *

It seems he is destined to fail.

Their first enemy encounter leaves them reeling. Lu Ten was right about there not being any fantastic beasts, but wrong about everything else, most importantly the enemy's numbers. From Tu and Ao's scouting reports, he estimated them to be about sixty strong, more than the 18th company boasts, but not an insurmountable number. It was closer to eighty, in actuality.

To their credit, his men don't shy from the challenge. Lu Ten thinks they probably would have fought to the last man if he hadn't called for them to retreat. Fortunately, the Earth Kingdom troop doesn't have time to spare in pursuing them, but continues downstream, towards the battlefield that Lu Ten's been ordered to keep them from. That will go down well with Shinu.

They've had no fatalities, but at least half the group sports mild injuries. Piao took an arrow to the back of the knee, and while the wound itself appears clean and the shaft comes out with a minimum of tearing, all is not well.

"The arrowhead was coated with poison," Yin says. He and Yang were healers' apprentices before the war and are the company's unofficial medics. "Without knowing exactly what type, though, we can't make an antidote."

"Let me see it." There's a slim chance that he'll be able to identify it, and even less likely that they'll be able to find the antidote, but he can't know unless he tries.

 _"White is the color of death. We only wear it at funerals," Ursa tells him. "Never trust a white flower. Whispering starbloom, white jade, dew-at-midnight, all innocent, beautiful blooms, pure as snowfall, but they carry eternal sleep in their petals."_

He recognizes the fragrance of this flower—it's far more common than the white dragon bush it's often confused with.

"White jade," he announces, glances over at the wound to confirm the diagnosis. Sure enough, there's a rash now spreading to the surrounding skin. "The poison acts to paralyze the muscles. Its effects are temporary, but if the rash reaches his chest, he'll stop breathing and die. Yin, Yang, go get me pacui berries, quick!"

Blank stares are his only response. Ah, wait—"You might know them as false dragon's-eye." Oh thank goodness, a look of comprehension. "If you can't find them, mint leaf or ginger root can do the trick, but get as much as you can. Hurry up!"

They blink in surprise at the alarum in his voice, then scatter to do as he says. At this rate, it'll probably be less than an hour before Piao chokes on his last breath, so time is of the essence.

"Piao, look at me." The wounded man opens his eyes with difficulty, weary from the pain and struggle to stay conscious. "You are not allowed to die here. Your brothers need you. Do you hear me? Your parents named you for a reason. You're going to die of starvation, not poison. It's not your time yet."

Piao cracks a smile. "Don't think I haven't heard that one before, Captain."

"Well, it seems to have kept you alive until now, so I'll use it as often as I need to. Keep those eyes open." Spirits, he needs to work on his bedside manner. Not everyone is going to be this good-natured about dying.

Of course, that implies that there will be more battles like this, where they just barely manage to escape by the skin of their teeth, where there will be more dead and dying, where he may once again be unable to keep his promises.

This is only the beginning.

* * *

He's probably a little sharper than he needs to be with Yin and Yang when they finally get back with the pacui berries, but they _are_ on a tight schedule.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demands as they start setting up the fire and a kettle to—what, "Boil pacui berry tea? Do you know how long that will take? You do realize that by the time he drinks and digests the substances in the tea, he'll have long since died of suffocation?"

"What? Piao's going to die?" Shang's frantic voice joins the mix; when did he get here, and more importantly, how quickly can Lu Ten get rid of him so they can actually focus on saving Piao's life?

"Of course he's not," Hanxin says as serenely as he can while trying to restrain the agitated boy. "Sorry, Captain. I knew you wouldn't want to be disturbed, but he's beside himself with worry. Yao's not much better."

"Take him outside and calm him down, please. You can come back later when Piao's out of danger, but right now I need as few people as possible in here. Yin, there's a scroll in my pack, take it and tear it into about a dozen strips across. Yes, I know it contains official orders from Colonel Shinu, but since I've failed to carry out those orders, the scroll is useless except for medicinal purposes. Yang, crush the berries and strain away as much of the liquid as you can, we won't need it."

Lu Ten rattles off orders, hardly pausing for breath, with complete confidence that they will be obeyed, and miraculously, they are. Hanxin ushers Shang out, and Yin and Yang work quickly at their tasks. Soon they have several rolls of paper filled with pressed and more or less dry pacui berry mixed with ginger root shavings. As they work, Piao's breathing becomes gradually shallower, and it's evident that the poison is taking its toll. They help him sit up, braced weakly against them with Yang's hand supporting his head. Lu Ten takes a roll, lights one end of it, and puts the other end in Piao's mouth. "Breathe in."

Piao does, struggling to pull in one labored breath, and the ember flickers and brightens for a moment. He's too weak to hold it himself, so Lu Ten takes the roll away briefly to keep the smoke out of his eyes.

"The smoke from the burned berries contains the substance that will clear his lungs and counteract the poison's effects. It's faster to inhale the compound than drink it as tea because this way, it goes straight to his lungs and heart, instead of first to his stomach and liver, where much of it would be broken down and go to waste."

Yin nods at his explanation, but Yang looks mystified still. "Why don't people smoke medicine more often, then? We've only ever used medicinal teas for this type of ailment."

Piao starts coughing violently at that moment from the smoke inhalation; Yin pounds his back. "Well, there's one reason. It's not particularly easy on the lungs. There is also sometimes the risk of inhaling too much of a certain compound and experiencing adverse effects. There's not much likelihood of that happening with Piao, but we'll have to keep watch over several hours and continue administering the pacui berry until the poison is cleared out of his bloodstream."

"If I may ask, Captain, where did you learn these things?" Yang wonders. "Is this par for the course in a prince's education?"

 _Hardly,_ Lu Ten thinks privately. _If Ozai had known, he probably would have had much greater cause to fear his wife and not_ _abuse his son. Perhaps his ignorance will one day be his downfall._

He pulls himself out of those overcast thoughts. "You pick up a lot of things here and there," he says, a non-answer.

* * *

They keep a vigil over Piao's condition for the rest of the night, burning through the rest of the rolls until it's clear that he no longer needs them. Only then does Lu Ten let Shang come back in. The poor boy has been restless all night and collapses not long before dawn, satisfied that his brother will make a full recovery. Lu Ten falls asleep watching Hanxin's silhouette through the tent, backlit by the campfire outside until it's doused by a light morning shower.

He wakes up perhaps an hour later to the sound of a directionless tune being plucked on the lute. Chords fall like raindrops on a pond, poignant and bright in their clarity, but forgotten the instant they hit the water. A gentle melody greets his ears, and Lu Ten smiles as he recognizes the lyrics.

 _Soundly sleeping, I failed to note spring's dawn_

 _'Til birds everywhere began to sing their song_

 _Last night, I heard the sound of wind and rain_

 _I wonder how many flowers are now gone?_

"It always makes me a bit melancholy." Hanxin says, not turning his head to mark Lu Ten's presence, but all the same aware of it. "That the rain, the very same thing that nourishes flowers into their glory, also is the cause of their demise."

"Too much of a good thing?" Lu Ten suggests. The rain has stopped. He goes to the campfire, coaxes a pale flame from the undersides of the kindling that didn't get wet last night. "Let me submit a new verse."

 _Soundly sleeping, I failed to note spring's dawn_

 _'Til birds everywhere began to sing their song_

 _Last night, I heard the sound of strife and pain_

 _I wonder how many soldiers now lie slain?_

He looks up from the fire. No one is awake to hear his cringe worthy attempt at composition, besides Hanxin, who has stopped playing.

"Is Piao…?"

"He's fine," Lu Ten hastily amends. "I checked on him just now; he's breathing better than he probably has in years."

"Then what's the deal with your macabre lyrics?"Hanxin demands testily. He sounds unexpectedly… displeased with Lu Ten?

"I was just… imagining what could have happened," he admits, hanging his head slightly in dismay. "If we hadn't retreated in time. If the enemy had been a little more interested in hunting us down. We could have lost everyone, and it would have all been my fault. I could never have lived it down."

"But we didn't lose anyone. And we won't, because of you." Hanxin's tone is disproportionately urgent, for some reason. "Because you're stronger than even you know. Those who can be reborn as many times as necessary are the strong ones."

"Huh?" He might as well be speaking another language. Not even Father comes up with such opaque banter so readily.

"Who were you before all this? A nervous princeling, untried, untested—now who are you?" Hanxin asks, answering himself before Lu Ten can even parse his words. "Someone completely different, someone who gets up even after you're knocked down time and time again. Someone who always rises in rebirth, like the flame from yesterday's ashes." He nods at the weak but growing fire that Lu Ten restarted and sits up straighter in his conviction.

"I know the outcome of this battle wasn't ideal, but you've got to look skywards again like the flowers. You saved Jet, Piao, all of us in fact, multiple times, but if you keep this up, you won't be able to save yourself."

He turns back to his lute, putting a wall between them with his idle strumming, more deliberate than any dismissal. Lu Ten remains silent, and gradually, the camp around them begins to stir to life: the rasp of a sword being sharpened, the murmur of sleep-thickened voices, the clatter of life intruding on them once more, shutting down any possibility of returning to that surreal moment where soldiers lay scattered like flowers in the wake of a spring storm.

There is some part of him that bristles at Hanxin's acerbic pronunciation, their edges cut like rough diamonds, dull facets masking their true value. Who is he to claim such things? In spite of the tension and presumptive familiarity in his words, Lu Ten has to admire the other man's courage and wonder at the lack of his own.

He gets up, makes to leave, and if he pauses for a moment, pondering what words can resolve this rift, Hanxin takes no note. The day begins, and Lu Ten has never looked forward to one less.

* * *

 **A/N:** Very long detailed chapter notes about medicine and poetry this time at archiveofourown dot org /works/7019827/chapters/21427829 . Thank you for reading!


	5. Rain and Fire Lilies

**LU TEN**

 _Three months, two weeks_

He reads over the missive from Shinu, then casts it aside in disgust. As expected, it's filled with scathing remonstrance and warnings not to take needless risks. It also includes further commands to apprehend a large Earth Kingdom troop coming from the northwest. And by large, he means twice the size of Lu Ten's company. Surely it's too early for suicide missions? Nonetheless, orders are orders. The enemy platoon is estimated to arrive in the heavily wooded foothills of the mountains two days hence, the best chance to destroy them. The 18th company draws near to the site where they will make a strategic stand and camp out for the time being.

Most of the group is on their feet and ready for action again with the exception of Piao and one or two others, but Lu Ten knows that's not the only factor playing into their chances of victory. Their hopes for the war are faltering—the Fire Nation army is not invincible, as they thought. It's not a game anymore.

"It's simple, really," Kongming explains self-importantly, waggling his pai sho tiles between two fingers like an overenthusiastic dealer. "They've secreted half of their forces inside the forest, and they expect us to give our all and go in after them." He places several tiles on his board inside a circle constructed from pine needles, representing the forest. More tiles go outside the circle. "Then their other half will charge in and surround us in a death trap."

"So what's your proposed solution, O Master of Ten Thousand Scenarios?" Rusted Wok inquires.

"We'll cut our forces in half, send one half into the forest, and the other half out around to the backside of the enemy." He places tiles of a different color representing their own forces, though Lu Ten notes that they are woeful in number compared to the enemy . At this point, he's running out of tiles and has to recruit several pebbles, twigs, and someone's tea cup to join their forces.

"Has playing too much pai sho eroded your ability to do basic arithmetic? Your strategy doesn't confer any geographic advantage that would make up for our difference in numbers. We'll never make it at this rate," Ming Qian despairs.

"Well, what do you think we should do?"

Lu Ten loses the thread of the conversation, having noted the return of Hanxin and Zhangwei from their scouting trip. This is noteworthy because 1) they're back two hours before dusk, which is when they were supposed to return, and 2) there's someone with them.

(It's definitely not because Lu Ten is keeping subconscious tabs on Hanxin ever since last week's fallout like some pining teenager. Not at all.)

Correction: there's someone _with_ them, in the sense that Zhangwei is dragging some unfortunate soul along, blindfolded and hands tied behind his back. A prisoner? Lu Ten rises to meet them, and the babble dies down as everyone else catches on as well.

"What's this?"

Zhangwei pushes the man forward; he stumbles and falls to his knees. Hanxin explains: "This is an enemy scout we stumbled across and captured, about five miles upriver. His company stands a little beyond that, less than a day's march away."

"To be fair, I did most of the capturing," Zhangwei grumbles, pulling the blindfold off to reveal verdant eyes wide with fear. It's a stark reminder to Lu Ten of the humanity of their enemy. So far he hasn't had much chance to see any Earth Kingdom soldiers up close, taking only the time to lash out with his swords in self-defense before moving on.

"Yes, credit where it's due, thank you, but let me tell you more before you bite my head off, Captain," his partner intervenes. "You see, we ran into this man because he was singing to himself at his scouting post and not paying attention to his surroundings. Sing for us, won't you, Green?"

Green (the men's slang for Earth Kingdom soldiers, inspired by their uniform's leafy hues) shakes his head, lips quivering but resolutely shut. Zhangwei swears and goes to grab his shoulders, perhaps to shake some compliance into him, but Hanxin stops him.

"No, no, that's fine— _I'll_ sing it."

Lu Ten studies the enemy scout's carven expression as the song soars around them. Cracks in his grim façade begin to appear gradually. He closes his eyes, no, squeezes them shut, perhaps against tears of homesickness. The words speak of a distant land, the village where he grew up, no doubt, some place Lu Ten could not have imagined without the help of Hanxin's expressive melody.

 _He can make even stones shed tears._

As the song ends, he tries to remind himself that he's cross with Hanxin right now and not star-struck by his voice. "Is there a strategic value to your stunning performance, or did you just want the chance to relive your days back home as a songster?"

"Both, to be honest. Green has a lot of songs in him; I'll teach you the rest later. But in all seriousness, I do have a plan in mind. Zhangwei and I did a spot of actual spying before we picked up Green here. The Earth Kingdom will march all their troops through the forest, and they're expecting us to do the same. But their morale is low—most of them have never left home, and we can capitalize on that." Hanxin smiles, a bitter, fleeting turn of lips. "Make them realize that they're fighting to get to the battlefield, not to get back home. If it were the other way around, it would be another story, but right now, our job is to make them remember what they're missing. Surrounding them with songs of their homeland should do the trick."

 _Your voice is a weapon,_ Lu Ten thinks. _Perhaps more powerful than any we possess._

"Seriously? You think we can sing our way to victory?" Xinbo says skeptically. His brothers nod in agreement.

"That's a bit far-fetched, I'll say," Kongming adds. "In theory, it might work, but in practice…" He trails off delicately.

Various voices throughout camp echo their sentiment, but Hanxin rallies again. "This isn't about defeating them outright. At least this way, we can level the playing field a bit. If even a quarter of them lose the will to fight, we'll have a better chance of taking out the rest."

His appeal seems to fall on deaf ears, but looking at Green's state now… it's worth a try.

"Hanxin, sing us some more of the songs you heard. We're going to make this work."

Around them, the others react with incredulity, but Lu Ten stems the tide with one raised hand. "We've tried facing the enemy head on before and came out worse for it. What's important is that we keep our unit whole and safe in spite of a difficult adversary. If that means we have to try something different, so be it. Hanxin?"

He looks surprised to have Lu Ten's support, but nods in acknowledgment. "Yes, sir. The next one goes like this…"

"Hold up, can't you write these down? I haven't got memory to spare for these Earth villagers' drivel," Kongming pronounces with disdain.

"No, actually… I can't." Hanxin's voice loses its lustrous glow suddenly, dropping perhaps an octave.

"What, too good to bother with writing things down for the rest of us who can't keep up?"

"No, too bad," he corrects quietly, almost self-deprecating. "I can't read or write. I never learned. I just remember verses in my head, okay?"

"You can't read and write," Kongming repeats slowly in shock, as if trying to embrace the notion that his self-taught musician of a comrade from a rural, isolated village is illiterate—it's the news story of the year.

"Enough," Lu Ten interrupts, sensing Hanxin's discomfort. "Songtao, Songzhen, you have musical training. Take down the verses and the tune. Be as accurate as possible."

"Yes, sir."

"Everyone, pay attention."

Hanxin recommences, his voice stronger now, and as he spins verses, codas, and soulful sostenutos, the camp seems transfixed, frozen in another time and place far away.

* * *

 **HANXIN**

"We'll assume our posts at midnight," Lu Ten says. "Remember what you've learned. Ranks of spears and _jian_ assemble along the northern edge. Ranks of _dao_ spread out throughout the forest in pairs. Be on your guard, but also be ready to pour everything you have into your song. Convince them that this war is not for them. We attack at dawn."

They leave Piao in the care of his brothers and rise to meet the night. Lu Ten catches up to Hanxin as he enters the dense forest alone.

"Where's Zhangwei?"

"He's with Lee. He insists his singing is so bad it would only motivate the enemy to kill him on the spot, so he's making Lee do it for him."

"Which Lee? We've got four; I didn't think any of them were particularly gifted at singing."

"I mean our prisoner. Yes, he's actually called Lee; I asked him. You didn't think his name was actually Green, did you?" Hanxin glances at his captain. "What, does the name mean something to you?"

Lu Ten shakes his head. "No, no. I'll go with you then. If we work together, our victory may yet come to pass."

"This isn't really what I envisioned when I said I wanted to bring joy to this war with my voice," Hanxin says pensively. "It's almost…underhanded, the way we're trying to weaken them before we attack."

"This was your idea, Hanxin," Lu Ten reminds him. "Where's that upbeat attitude?"

"I guess I passed it to you." He doesn't mean to say it so softly and with quiet fondness, as if meant for a lover's ears only, but no matter. There are voices up ahead, a prelude to their first enemy encounter.

"Shh!" Lu Ten presses a hand rather unnecessarily to his mouth. His fingers are cool like the night air and oh, they smell faintly of the oil he uses to polish his swords— _focus, Hanxin!_

Through the trees, they see a small band of Earth Kingdom soldiers, just three, taking shelter in a cove of ancient, hollowed tree trunks. There could be more scattered about the periphery, though. Silently, he starts to climb a neighboring tree and looks down. Lu Ten means to cover him from the ground. _Okay then, here goes._

He's close enough to hear the soldiers talking, their voices hushed with worry.

"Lee hasn't been seen since yesterday—do you think he's defected?"

"Maybe he was captured."

"A fate worse than death."

They fall silent as familiar strains drift through the forest.

 _At moonset, the crows salute skies full of frost_

 _Though river lights shine bright, in dreams I am lost_

 _Outside Gusu, Cold Mountain Temple calls_

 _From my boat, I hear the midnight bells' tolls_

"That's… that's the song Lee was always singing," one of them says, dumbfounded.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" another calls. They all stare up at the trees, unnerved.

Hanxin wisely does not give away his location, forcing them to get up and begin searching.

"It sounded a bit like one of the men in our troop, that man from farther west, what's his name."

"I don't know him. Are you sure there's such a person?"

"If he was one of ours, wouldn't he reveal himself to us?" They're drawing near to where Lu Ten crouches in the shadows.

"Maybe he was captured and compelled to sing under duress?"

 _Almost right_ , Hanxin thinks, just before Lu Ten strikes. The soldiers, caught off guard, put up little resistance. Hanxin and Lu Ten make quick work of disarming them.

"You have a choice now, and I hope you'll find it easy," Hanxin informs them. "You can stay here, ignominiously tied to a tree until someone comes to rescue you, or you can come with us and help us capture the rest of your unit, after which you are all free to surrender and return to your homes. Which will it be?"

"How do we know you won't just kill us anyways once we surrender? You never find the truth in a firebender's mouth, that's what I always say," one man snarls. _He looks like the stereotypical village grouch,_ Hanxin thinks randomly: decrepit and old, missing two front teeth, a jagged white scar through one eyebrow, a burn scar pulling one side of his mouth lopsided. Too old for this war, so what is he doing here? Fighting to protect the young?

"One, I'm telling the truth," he sighs—are prisoners always this uncooperative? Lee and their current batch seem to prove it. "And two, I'm not a firebender."

"Over here," Lu Ten waves. His expression darkens, frustrated by the situation as well. "Don't like the terms of the agreement? Fine, let's change it up. We can kill you now, or we can kill you later, after you help us capture all your friends. Which will it be?"

Surely he's bluffing? The soldiers don't think so, though.

"Just kill us now," another man says, younger and more timid in his affect. He blinks huge, surprisingly amber eyes up at Hanxin, shaking like a leaf. "I don't want to die so far from home, and it's going to happen sooner or later."

"They've probably already caught and killed Lee. He was my best friend," the third rejoins, head bowed for his lost comrade. "We can't be responsible for any one else's death."

 _Well, this is proving far easier than I expected._ "Lee's not dead," Hanxin says gently. "We captured him and learned your songs from him, but we didn't kill him. We don't kill helpless prisoners, no matter what certain bloodthirsty firebenders might threaten." He chances a grin at Lu Ten, who rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath that sounds like Hanxin's name and a curse on his ancestors.

"We'll take you to him, but only if you promise to add your voices to ours," he persuades. "You know the words already, and you know your comrades' hearts. They don't want to be here anymore than you do."

The prisoners take Hanxin's words to heart, amazingly. The forest begins to toll with the sound of disembodied voices singing of a mountain far away, a village envisioned as if only in a dream. It is at once eerie and uplifting, in a strange sense. It is a night to remember.

HHH

When day breaks, they regroup to organize their fighting ranks, but as it happens, they need hardly have made the effort. Half the remaining enemy soldiers surrender on sight, believing themselves to be outnumbered. The rest put up such an uninspired fight that before long, the 18th company has lined up, rank and file, the entire Earth Kingdom battalion sent against them, disarmed and very much disinclined to fight any longer.

"Go home to your families," Lu Ten commands. "What is the Earth King to you, but a distant tyrant who demands your taxes and your lives when he sees fit and does nothing more for you? If you fear the wrath of the Fire Nation, go home and protect your loved ones yourselves. The Earth King will give you no aid there."

 _It's true,_ Hanxin thinks. _He says only the truth he sees written on their faces, and they are almost relieved to hear him put it into words, to tell them what they want, no,_ need _to hear._

"One thing I should ask you then, since I see we're being frank, enemy to enemy." It's the Village Grouch."What is the Fire Lord to you, most honorable Captain?"

Lu Ten says nothing, but Hanxin see the answer in a fist clenched at his waist and in the involuntary straightening of his spine, rising to face a conflict within him that threatens to destroy all.

HHH

They remain camped outside the forest for the rest of the day, waiting for the morrow to move on to more victories farther north. Lu Ten finds Hanxin on the periphery of the woods after nightfall, picking out a tune on the lute, possibly inspired by staring into the darkness beyond the trees.

"Your strategy saved the day. Shinu will be infuriated in spite of himself. He'll have to report to my father that we defeated the enemy by singing."

"Hm. Stranger things have seen the light of day," Hanxin murmurs.

"Indeed."

Lu Ten sits a few feet away by a slender ash tree, content to welcome the silence between them. Hanxin lets his mind continue to wander between the strings, reworking the tunes that won them the battle today. If they get out of this war alive, he'll have these at least to remember his captain by. It's a sobering thought.

"Be my rain," Lu Ten says suddenly.

The last note from Hanxin's lute fades into shaken silence, a query lingering in the air.

"You said those who can be reborn as many times as necessary are the strong ones. So be the rain to my fire lily. The sun brings it into existence, but the rain gives it new life after long summers of scorching heat and drought."

Hanxin looks over at his captain disbelievingly, thinking to find something in his bearing, his expression, to lighten his tone. Perhaps it's just a joke, or an act, a moment of idle poetic daydreams, the prince fancying himself a minstrel. He accidentally runs headlong into Lu Ten's eyes, bright in the dim light, dead serious in spite of the fact that he just compared himself to a flower.

"Why a fire lily?"

"What, are you partial to some other blooms? It's just a flower, don't get too attached to its significance," Lu Ten teases. "I mean it, though. Help me remember that there is beauty and hope in the world even after the endless trial by fire that is this war."

Hanxin remains silent, lost in thought, fingers drumming an absent rhythm on the body of his lute. _Does he know what he's really asking of me?_

"You forget, though, that rain destroys flowers as well," he says gravely. "That in placing your trust in me, you hand me a sword with which I can cut you down, if I so choose."

"If I remember correctly, you prefer to use your voice. I'm trusting you not to use it against me." Lu Ten shifts to face Hanxin completely, withholding no part of him. "You said I wouldn't be able to save myself. Be my rain, problem solved. Please, Hanxin?"

 _Save me._

"Okay." It's all he can manage, stunned into uncharacteristic ineloquence by Lu Ten's wholehearted entreaty.

The fire lily blossoms, Lu Ten's joy as bright as an entire field of the flowers in bloom as Hanxin gives his agreement. He turns to face forward again, gazing into the dark of the night, but radiance leaks from him like daylight through the cracks of a cave buried deep in shadow. It's… he's inebriating.

Chords fall like raindrops on a spring field, muted as they strike the earth, silently giving their blessing to the flowers that yearn for their touch.

* * *

 **A/N:** Writing notes here: archiveofourown dot org /works/7019827/chapters/21607136


	6. Intermezzo

**A/N:** Text in [brackets] indicates messages that Zuko and Lu Ten sent using invisible ink. There's no finer way to put it, sorry :D

* * *

 _Five months, three weeks_

Lu Ten finally gets around to finding out what's in the mysterious white lotus box he received before embarking for the battlefield. Fifty minds will do the job better than just his one, so one slow day in camp, he makes it a game for whoever feels up to it. Predictably, a number of contenders rise to the challenge, armed only with the clue "all is one and one is all".

"Who gave you this box, anyways?" Hanxin asks. "They don't seem much inclined to actually help you, if that's all they gave you to go on."

"An old master of mine," he says succinctly, unwilling to volunteer more information. "I haven't spoken to him in a while, but I suppose he expected I would know what to do."

"I believe it's a reference to the Book of Changes, chapter twelve. The only problem is that I can't remember which verse it is—the fifty-sixth or the fifty-seventh?" Kongming agonizes, turning the box over in his hands.

"You've got it all wrong, my friend," Xinran counters. "It's got nothing to do with the Book of Changes. You need to take into account the fact that this verse leads back to a number of sources, including the Eight Immortals, the Spring and Autumn Annals, the Book of Odes, and the Ember Island Tracts, among others."

"Objection," Songzhen snipes. "The Ember Island Tracts are _not_ considered part of Paoist canon, and they're the ultimate authority on the topic of the ancients' philosophy."

"Okay, but how does any of this abstract mumbo jumbo help open an actual box?" Rusted Wok wonders, mostly out of boredom at their jabber. They ignore him, but Lu Ten has to concur; not even he has this level of schooling in ancient philosophical texts and abstractions.

Beside him, Warped Door yawns widely and starts whetting a knife as loudly as he can. Piao and Yao join in, clearly hoping to put an end to the argument. This achieves the opposite result, as the others only increase their volume.

"All is one and one is all," Hanxin repeats as they reach a lull, having stymied one another by arguing in circles. He considers the box thoughtfully. "I won't pretend to know what that means, but it must be some kind of code."

"Obviously." Songzhen looks like he's trying his hardest not to roll his eyes. "But it's a saying that has been multiply attributed in the classics, so much so that it's nearly impossible to determine the truth at its core."

"I see."

"Given your background, I really don't think you do."

"Well, it can't be that complicated, given that it's just a simple puzzle lock." Undeterred, Hanxin pries the box out of Kongming's reluctant hands and idly turns the white lotus lock. It clicks with every rotation through the eight petals. "What if the riddle is literally the answer? All," He spins it full circle, "is one;" he turns it one click in the other direction, "and one, is all." He turns it full circle again.

Nothing happens. Songzhen snorts with ungracious glee.

"Or we could try it the other way first," Hanxin continues.

"Oh please, just give up. You can't possibly solve a conundrum posed by an master versed in the classics," Kongming all but hisses in spite.

Hanxin ignores him, steadily turning the petals of the lock. It's with a huge sense of relief and gratification that Lu Ten observes the lock spring open after the last click. Hanxin smirks, but the usual warm regard of his eyes is hidden behind a frigid film.

"Really? Because I just did."

Everyone gapes as he presents the box to Lu Ten in an exaggeratedly servile fashion, elevating it above his head. "Please, let me know if I can be of any further help," he says tonelessly, and stalks off, leaving stunned silence behind.

"He's wasted as a songster," Yao finally comments, sounding awed. "He should have gone into drama."

 _We're all wasted as soldiers,_ Lu Ten thinks, _and yet here we are._

"Kongming, Songzhen, that was unwarranted. I won't order you two to recant your words, because I believe you both know what you need to do," he says soberly.

Songzhen looks mortified; Kongming slightly less so and more irked at being called out. "Captain, I—"

"Oh no, no, not to me. When you disrespect a deity's altar, you beg forgiveness of the deity, not the altar, yes?" They only understand oblique references, so he'll speak their language. "But in your own time."

They make their exits quickly after that, desperate to get back in their captain's good graces. Excellent.

"I don't get it," Rusted Wok announces. "Did you just compare yourself to a deity's altar? That doesn't even make sense."

"Yes, it sounded better in my head as well," Lu Ten agrees with equanimity, not bothering to explain. He actually meant exactly what he said, because that makes Hanxin the deity, but they're not to know that.

"So what's inside?" Tuanyuan asks, always one to bridge tense gaps in the conversation.

"Maybe it's treasure!" Shang exclaims. His brothers sigh, long-suffering evident in their reaction to his excitability.

"Probably not." Lu Ten lifts the lid of the box. One look confirms his initial guess: there are several scrolls neatly stacked one on top of another. He unrolls one, scans the contents, and realizes how apt the sender is. Truly, he knows the recipient well.

The scroll is the first in a series of writings by legendary scholar and general Qizheng, who lived four centuries ago in the Fire Nation and was the advisor to many of the greatest military presences of the feuding states back then. According to Piandao, his writings were banned when Fire Lord Sozin rose to power, not because of their content, but because of the man's legacy. Several renowned students of Qizheng's school of thought committed treason against the Fire Lord, citing his philosophy as their motivation to act against their sovereign's interests.

It won't do for everyone to know about these. Most of them won't care, but Kongming and the rest of the civil service hopefuls, rife with misplaced patriotism, would surely object.

"Well? What does it say?" Shang presses, high spirits not dashed by the lack of treasure.

"It's…" Lu Ten clears his throat, trying to think of a lie to substitute for the fact that he's just received a lifetime prison sentence's worth of heretical texts from his old master, the most famous deserter of the Fire Nation army. "It's a collection of classic stories: the Legend of Yi, the Tale of Chang'e, and the Tale of the Butterfly Lovers, just to name a few."

Unsurprisingly, this inspires incredulity. "Why on earth would that be at all useful?" Xinbo ridicules. "Surely it's some kind of code for what your master truly intended you to understand," Xinran hypothesizes. "Well, at least you'll have no trouble falling asleep with all these bedtime stories," Wok jokes halfheartedly.

Only Shang seems enthused. "I love those stories! Will you read us some, Captain? Please?"

"You needn't indulge him, Captain," Piao intervenes. "He's only heard those stories every day of his life. They're the stuff of theater productions. He could probably recite them all to you in turn."

"Maybe another time, Shang," Lu Ten promises absently. He's just noticed two loose leaves of parchment at the bottom, as well as a separately wrapped package which he discreetly rearranges to reveal… several ink sticks? Surely Piandao didn't think he'd forget his own? His master remains as inscrutable as always, a weakness with all old people, it seems.

In the privacy of his tent at night, he reads the scrolls one by one and consigns them each to fiery ashes as he finishes. He's starting to understand why Piandao deserted. This war is futility and immorality at its peak. No one is slated to win.

 _If I make it out of this alive, I will consider myself to have won,_ Lu Ten thinks. Then, _no: only if my whole company makes it out alive will consider the victory to be mine. I will do everything in my power to ensure it._

The night is weakening to morning's grasp before he finally turns to the loose papers that came with the scrolls. He unfolds them to find both nearly blank, except for two familiar names that he'd almost committed to oblivion: Mushi and Lee.

He smiles involuntarily. _Lee_. How fitting that Piandao, who taught him the way of the sword, should be the one to remind him how to stand firm. It's time to pen some letters.

LLL

 _Six months_

"Who're you writing to, your girlfriend?"

Lu Ten startles, almost ruining the character he was penning before Hanxin interrupted. He hadn't heard the other's approach; he's really losing his touch.

"Relax, there's nothing wrong with that."

He dips his brush and resumes writing. "I don't have a girlfriend. This is for my cousin, Zuko. He's eight, almost nine now."

"Oh." Hanxin sits down beside him. "You two must be close, to be exchanging letters, especially in such detail." He nods at the long ream of parchment, covered with Lu Ten's neat, dense script.

"Yes, it was very difficult to leave him." He continues to write, glad that Hanxin can't read it. The letter contains a rather glowing testimonial about the man's brilliant strategy, and Lu Ten can't resist slipping in a few words about his voice, too. He hopes Zuko doesn't think him too full of moonshine and idiocy.

"Sometimes I count myself lucky that I don't have anyone waiting for me at home. No hearts to break in the long run. Of course, even if I did, I couldn't write to them." There's a bitter thread to his words.

"Don't tell me they're still giving you trouble about that." For god's sake, why does it sometimes feel like he's leading a troop of schoolboys?

"No, no, Songzhen and Kongming apologized already. It's just a bit embarrassing," Hanxin says with studied indifference. Lu Ten knows better, though.

"I could teach you," he offers without thinking.

Ever the fearless one, Hanxin actually blanches. "I don't know any basics at all. It would take me ages."

"Better start now, then, because we don't have ages." He shoots Hanxin a knowing smile; it's rare that he finds the other man nonplussed. "Let's start with your name." He tugs his reluctant student over to his writing table and unfolds a new sheet of paper, writing down the characters of his name with quick strokes. He wonders who wrote Hanxin's name on the recruitment roster when he enrolled, since he couldn't have done it himself.

"Er, I'm not sure this is a good idea," Hanxin continues to stall, regarding the glyphs quizzically. "I'll probably ruin the paper with my horrible penmanship."

"As a warrior, you stamp your identity on the battlefield with your sword," Lu Ten says seriously. "Why would writing your name be any less important? Come on."

He sighs. "All right, let's get this over with."

* * *

 **HANXIN**

It's every bit as difficult as he dreads. The brush trembles in his fingers, and each stroke turns out shaky and crooked. He groans in frustration. "It's like I'm trying to sing but I've lost my voice."

Lu Ten makes a thoughtful noise and reaches over to tug the brush from his right hand. "Let's try something else," he suggests. He starts to clear a space in the underbrush of the forest to write characters in the dirt.

"How will I ever remember all these characters?" Hanxin despairs. "There are thousands, and they all look different."

"You remember the words of all the songs you've ever heard just by listening to them. I believe in you."

Lu Ten teaches him basic words relevant to their current circumstances: attack, retreat, the cardinal directions, times of day, military ranks, and numbers. There's no use in attempting to tackle the classics today, but perhaps gradually, in time, he'll learn more. Hanxin applies himself to memorizing the intricate shapes and curves, not because they'll be useful (although undoubtedly they will), but because every word seems to suffuse his captain with the energy and brightness that's been fading from his bearing as the war wears on. His voice grows stronger, brisker, into the gleaming tones used for poetic declamations. Hanxin can imagine Lu Ten teaching his young cousin, praising and remonstrating in turn with equal fervor, overjoyed to be someone's conductor of light.

HHH

"Think fast!"

Hanxin doesn't have time to do even that; he catches the branch tossed at him reflexively and looks to Lu Ten for some kind of explanation.

"You're left-handed."

Indeed, the branch rests in the palm of his left hand. "Is that supposed to be significant?"

"Most people are right-handed, to the extent that in many families, early signs of left-handedness are severely punished, so that children learn to use only their right."

"Mm, I didn't get that lesson, obviously." Lu Ten beckons, and Hanxin takes the brush in his left hand this time. Somehow, it feels snugger this way. "What about you?"

"I've taught myself to use both hands, though I prefer the left."

Lu Ten sets him to practicing the words they'd etched on the ground earlier, and then back to scratching out his accursed name with its innumerous strokes. Although his hand is much more stable now, he still stumbles over the unfamiliar shapes. "Oops," he mutters as one corner turns out hugely disproportional to the rest of the character.

"Hm, I think I know what you're missing." Lu Ten steps around him to sit at his left side, unbearably close. "Here." He sets his left hand over Hanxin's, not forcing him through the strokes, but merely steadying the lingering tremors and letting him lead the way through long, straight lines, surer and surer every time.

They finally finish the character denoting 'han' and pause before moving on to the second one, 'xin'. "This character means 'faith' and 'reliance,'" Lu Ten explains. "I've always thought it describes you perfectly."

Hanxin concentrates on not squashing the brush into the paper and making a giant inkblot at that statement. Lu Ten must feel the tension and squeezes his hand. "Your wrist will start hurting if you keep that up."

 _What about my heart?_

He thinks he has an inkling of the answer to that question, but it's just that: an inkling, a tiny splash of blackest coal on the blank canvas of his hopes. How can he parse Lu Ten's meaning, grasp the notion behind those cool fingers enveloping his own?

Perhaps it is this curiosity that leads him to do it, not unlike a spy in enemy territory sneaking through unknown places. He manages to complete the second character without committing any calligraphic faux pas. "Now you." He holds the brush out.

"What?"

"You know how to write my name; it's only fair that I know yours."

Lu Ten takes the brush in his right hand, dips it, and poises it above the paper, ready to write—

"Oh wait, you're missing something," Hanxin stops him, heart in his mouth, wondering if he's quite possibly lost his mind. He rises to sit on his captain's left, switches the brush from right to left. "You'll need this."

He places his hand over Lu Ten's in a reversal of their earlier positions and forces himself not to look at the other man, focusing only on the paper before them as if this is the most natural thing to do. He's just returning the favor, that's all. It's not like the prince of the Fire Nation already has years and years of training in perfecting his script. This is fine.

The thing is, as the hand under his begins to move, it really is fine. He feels more than hears his captain smile, his left shoulder rising calmly with each breath against Hanxin's side. Up and down, sweeping strokes to the side, they slide through the paces together.

When they finish, Lu Ten reads it aloud, his syllables crisp and clear. Hanxin looks at the words but doesn't trust his voice to give them sound. It's as if they are blessed relics, divine representations of the man before him, too sacred to sully with his lips.

韓信 路騰

* * *

 **LU TEN**

"When you write your name, you stamp the paper with your identity," Piandao told him long ago.

 _So what does it mean when someone else helps you write your name?_ He thinks errantly.

* * *

 _Eight months_

Dear Lu Ten,

I miss you so much! I don't have anyone to practice with these days. I'm so glad you made it out of that battle alive. Hanxin sounds really smart. Maybe you should give him a promotion! Oh, speaking of that, Riku got promoted to being my valet! Mom said I'm finally old enough to have one. He tells me lots of stories from when you were younger. Did you really once eat eight papayas in one sitting? How did you survive?

I'm training with Master Kunyo and Azula in firebending. Azula is really good. She's always trying to challenge me, and honestly I would like to show her I'm better than her, but the truth is I'm not confident that I am. I don't know what to do. Firebending practice always used to make me so happy.

What are the soldiers under your command like? I can't imagine being a captain and actually having people follow my orders. I feel like people would realize that I don't know what I'm talking about and just dismiss me. But I guess that wouldn't happen with you.

Wishing you luck,

Zuko

[It's getting colder. Do you remember it was around this time last year that I first started firebending? I can't believe the time has passed so quickly. Well, that's good, because that means it won't feel like so long before you come back.]

* * *

 _Ten months_

Dear Zuko,

I'm glad to hear Riku is serving you now. He's a good man. Please don't let him tell you anything too embarrassing about my childhood. I have a reputation to maintain.

All warfare is deception; that's the principle tenet of wartime strategy. It applies across all situations. It's not limited to deceiving the enemy, but also in a way to deceiving your own subordinates. When we first met, they didn't think I was worth a fire ferret's tail. I shared their opinion. But I had to trick them into thinking that I was better than that, that I was smart enough, strong enough, and competent enough to be their leader. After a while, it actually starts to sink in. I believe you would fare quite similarly, if you were to go to war one day, but let's hope it doesn't come to that.

Regarding Azula—if you're not certain you can beat her, then don't rise to the challenge. He will prevail who knows when to fight and when not to fight. If you know you're going to lose, it's in your best interests to retreat and regroup, gather your thoughts and strategize as to how you're going to win the next time around. For example, our company was once cornered at a bridge across a river. We managed to cross, but the enemy was close on our heels, and we had several wounded who couldn't stand and fight. Fortunately, Hanxin had the foresight to remember a huge beaver dam we had seen not far upriver. Before the enemy managed to ford the river, I burned down the dam, releasing a surprisingly vast deluge that prevented their crossing. We escaped and left them far behind. I did feel bad about the beavers, but I would have felt worse if we'd stayed and fought, only to be defeated. Hopefully they'll be able to rebuild the dam. Anyways, the point of that is: choose your battles wisely. Here on the battlefield, I sometimes don't have a choice, but you do.

Wishing you the best,

Lu Ten

* * *

 _One year_

Dear Lu Ten,

I guess you're right. Letting Azula challenge me and losing to her will just give her more reason to make fun of me. I won't let her get to me. I'll just focus on practicing and perfecting my firebending to the best of my ability.

We're learning lots of other things too, mostly history and politics and for some reason, poetry. Like you said, I don't think I have much taste for poetry right now, or probably ever. I don't see why I have to know ancient history either, stuff like the Battle of Han Tui. That would only be useful if I were a general in the army one day. Azula loves it though, I don't know why.

Are you ever going to be a general one day, do you think? Will I ever be one? It's all so far away right now, but it could come to pass.

Zuko

[Before you left, I didn't even know you had to go to the war so soon. I wish you didn't have to go. You're not that much older than me. I hope it's over before long.]

* * *

 _One year, two months_

Dear Zuko,

Hanxin's writing this for me, because I may have gotten myself a little injured in our latest battle. Don't worry! It's nothing really. I just hit my head and need to rest my eyes a bit.

Here's something that may be of interest to you. The men have bestowed upon me a new nickname: the Azure Dragon of the East, a play on my father's epithet, given that my title was earned in the eastern Earth Kingdom. The azure part comes from my blue-tinged lightning, which came in useful lately against a large Earth Kingdom cavalry unit. We pursued them all the way to the Argent River, where they nearly gave us the slip, but I managed to cut them off by bending a thunderstorm's worth of lightning into the river. They couldn't have crossed without being shocked into the next century by the water and were forced to surrender summarily. As you of course remember, make your surroundings fight for you.

Anyways, the name's spread beyond our company. Sometimes I get communications from units elsewhere in the area greeting me as the Azure Dragon. I suppose the men gossip. It's flattering, though I'm not sure how I feel about being called Dragon. Traditionally it's reserved for those who have actually killed a dragon, which I have no intention of doing.

I'm having trouble staying awake, Zuko, so I'll stop here. I just wanted to let you know that I'm well, or as well as I can be anyways.

Take care,

Lu Ten

[Prince Zuko: Hanxin here. The captain's asleep, so I'll take this opportunity to give you my perspective.

According to your great-grandfather Sozin, dragons were diabolical beasts that wanted to destroy all of humanity. I'm sure you weren't taught this growing up, but traditional mythos surrounding dragons depicts them as they actually were: benevolent, though elusive, magical creatures that help those in need. Azure dragons were associated with the Eastern temple of heaven, spring, new growth, and healing. That's where your cousin truly derives his name. He's the reason we haven't lost a single man so far to illness or injury. He even heals abandoned Earth Kingdom soldiers deemed too injured to fight by their companies and then sends them home scot-free. Technically, that's treason in the form of aiding the enemy, but what the higher-ups don't know won't hurt them.

Enough gushing about your cousin, though. The truth is, he's overtaxing himself. This is the first night in ages that I've seen him sleep at a normal hour, and that was only because he got a concussion from an earthbender with an honest-to-god mace. I try, we all do, to take on some of the burden, but he still wears himself out. It isn't really my place to ask this of you, but all the same, he's bound to listen to you if you ask him to take better care of himself. Best if you don't mention this; he hates it when people think he's not capable, even though he's the most competent person I know.]

* * *

Hanxin finishes the letter and rolls it up, Lu Ten's regular breathing a soothing sound in the background. He's a little shocked at his own forwardness. Interceding on his captain's behalf with said captain's nine-year-old cousin is certainly overstepping his boundaries. He puts away the invisible ink he wrote with, hoping that Zuko will remember to look for the hidden message. Lu Ten told him how he communicates with his cousin, using unseen words to convey what they don't want others to read in the event that their messages get intercepted.

He probably wasn't expecting it to be used for this purpose. It's definitely not what he meant when he said, "Be my rain," but Hanxin will be the one who interprets that particular request. He casts a glance back at his captain's peaceful sleep and steps out of the tent, confident that he'll finally get a good night's rest for the first time in too long.

"Ah, young love," Tuanyuan sighs upon seeing him. He, Zhangwei, and the Dais are assembled around the cooling remains of this evening's dinner like a gaggle of lingering gossips with nothing better to do.

"Keep your silence," he responds without heat. "You don't know what you're talking about." He walks past them, trying his best to ignore their amused snickers. Tu and Ao are in charge of the messenger birds that carry the company's correspondence, and Hanxin hands the letter over to them, along with the mission report to Colonel Shinu. The messenger hawk will take them to the main military outpost far south of here, where all post destined for the Fire Nation will be dispatched.

Once that's sorted, he realizes he has to head back to check on Lu Ten's condition through the night, which involves walking past the gossips again, unfortunately.

"Hanxin, you're young and in love. If that's not the definition of young love, then I don't know what is." At twenty-eight, Tuanyuan is the eldest among them all, but hardly weathered enough to be dictating what does and does not constitute love.

"Besides, you only spend half of your time in his tent and the other half out of it with him. You're going back there right now," Zhangwei adds damningly.

"It's only because I need to wake him up periodically to make sure he hasn't died in his sleep." The words bring gall to his mouth, the very thought of Lu Ten dying too much to consider.

"That's so romantic," Shang stage-whispers as he leaves them again, ignoring the grain of truth in their insufferable banter.

* * *

 _One year, four months_

Dear Lu Ten,

I wish I knew how to generate lightning. I asked Master Kunyo but he scoffed at me and said it's too dangerous. Azula doesn't like him much, because he always wants us to do forms exactly the way that he does them. She says that's boring. It is a little boring, I guess, but he's not wrong to make us learn it the right way first. She's always going off and trying new things without his permission.

The apple tree in the garden is blooming again. The turtleducks hatched their new brood three weeks ago. This batch is really fierce. One of them bit me because I threw bread at it, which I admit was cruel and not well thought-out. I didn't even hit it, just splashed water on it. I should probably practice my knife throwing (not on the ducklings!); my aim is getting poor.

Not much is going on here. Mom is well. Dad is at war councils with Fire Lord Azulon a lot. I always wondered why Dad didn't end up in the war. I mean, I don't particularly want him to go. I just thought it's strange that your dad went but mine didn't. Oh, say hi to Hanxin for me and tell him that his writing is great. I'm pretty sure mine looked much worse when I was younger.

Okay, I'm off to poetry lesson again! You wouldn't happen to know anything about the symbolism of the moon in Li Bai's poem "Night Thoughts," would you? Our tutor, Master Kuang, insists it represents the poet's far-flung love, but I think it's just the moon. Not everything has to mean something. Oh well! Here goes nothing.

Zuko

[When you come back, will you teach me to bend lightning? I promise I'll listen to you and be careful, but you have to promise me something in return. You have to stop putting yourself in so much danger on the battlefield. It sounds like you're working really hard to make sure your men don't get hurt, but you have to take care of yourself, too. You're only the best cousin and friend I have, but more importantly, you're the only you that you have. Please, you have to stay safe.]

* * *

 **A/N:** Super long chapter notes. Dear god, I spent longer organizing the notes than I spent actually writing some scenes of this chapter.

archiveofourown dot org /works/7019827/chapters/22080266


	7. The Butterfly Lovers

**A/N:** A number of things to note:

1\. Rating has gone up to 'Explicit'. It's not that explicit, but just to be safe. If you don't want to read that bit, stop after 'an invitation to utter destruction' (hehe :D)  
2\. There is a bit of discussion of war crimes, specifically relating to taking women as spoils of war, though no such crimes are perpetrated herein. It's kind of hard to skip because it's interwoven with the main story, so... just a heads-up.

* * *

 _One year, five months_

My dearest son, the Azure Dragon of the East,

I'm intrigued to hear of your new moniker! If the rumors are true, it is a name well-deserved. You will have to tell me all about it when we meet again, which may be sooner than you think. I have great news for you: our units at the front lines have finally managed to breach the outer wall of Ba Sing Se. The end is in sight. Soon the city will fall, and we will be able to return home. I look forward to seeing you soon.

General Iroh

* * *

Captain Lu Ten,

By now you must have heard how your father has commenced the siege on Ba Sing Se. Now that we are so close to defeating the city, your mission in the northwest is less imperative. Finish up any outstanding business you have up north; you are more needed on the front lines now. I am requesting your presence at the wall no later than three months hence.

Do not let your newly acquired fame as the Azure Dragon go to your head. Though not insignificant, your successes in the backwoods of the Earth Kingdom will count for nothing if you are seen to falter immediately upon reaching the wall.

Colonel Shinu

* * *

 **LU TEN**

As commanded, they make for Ba Sing Se summarily, on their way at last to a real battlefield. It's not that the past few months' conflicts don't count as battles, but now that they're headed to the main corps of the army, Lu Ten will have less discretion to command his men as he chooses. Out here, he directs their every movement with care and confidence that his decisions will keep them alive. When they reach Ba Sing Se, though, all that will change.

What can they really do to alter the course of the war? He's painfully aware that he only commands a small unit of infantry, mere ants before the unshakeable stronghold. Their purpose is merely to fend off the Earth Kingdom army while the Fire Nation's heavy artillery and war machines go to work on the wall. They will be as pawns on a chess board, thoughtlessly sacrificed for the greater good. His father must have known this and tried to spare him the pain of that thoughtlessness for as long as possible, but with the outer wall breached, there can be no more delay.

For now, he indulges in the freedom of the sidelines. After all, they have three months to reach Ba Sing Se. The Earth Kingdom troops are flooding towards the city still more urgently these days, and the 18th company engages in more skirmishes with enemy troops than is probably advisable, far more than normal. It is one too many of these petty battles that leaves almost a quarter of the group too injured to travel, just two months before they are due back to the main army.

They're still too far from headquarters to be able to expect any sort of aid, a little more than two hundred miles north of the city. They'll have to lay low for a bit or risk being picked off by enemy troops. According to Lu Ten's map, there is a mid-sized town close by, located well away from more traveled country routes. So far, they've made a habit of skirting Earth Kingdom villages for most of their campaign, to avoid clashing with civilians. However, with so many wounded and their supplies uncomfortably low, it appears inevitable this time around.

LLL

Shouxiang is a prosperous town set amid the low hills of a broad mountain. The valley at the foot of the mountain is rich with crops, golden grains and luscious fruit trees at the height of their yield in late summer. The houses stand in prim rows, cut from the same white stone as the chest-high wall that encircles the settlement. Not far outside the town proper rises a modest knoll, on top of which rests a small temple. It seems abandoned, as if the worshipers had lost faith during the lengthy war.

Lu Ten decides to settle the group there instead of marching right into town. At least they'll be protected from the elements without directly menacing the townspeople. To forge an agreement with the leadership of Shouxiang, he sends a small team consisting of Kongming, (he's best qualified to deal with snobby officials, in spite of his arrogance and elitism), Hanxin (to soothe the egos Kongming crushes), and Yin (to actually stock up on the supplies that they need).

While they're gone, he tends to the wounded, whom they've laid up in the temple's anteroom. Shang stands at his side as he's changing the bandages on Ming Qian's arm, holding a bowl of water as well as a largely one-sided conversation.

"Captain, I just had a great idea. Since you're the Azure Dragon and everything, you should have a shield-bearer. And you could have the dragon emblazoned on your shield to terrify your enemies into surrendering. It would be so epic, don't you think?"

Lu Ten methodically unwraps Ming Qian's bandages and hm's unenthusiastically. He can think of several flaws in said great idea, but he'll let Shang work that out himself.

"Wait, but you don't have a shield, so that wouldn't work…"

Across the room, Yao, who's helping Yang set Tu's broken leg, sighs loudly, waiting for his brother to think of some other brilliant way to promote the Azure Dragon in battle.

"You could have a standard-bearer instead! The feudal lords of the pre-dynastic Fire Nation always had those, because there were many factions with divided loyalties. We had so much fun designing the standards for that one play from the Warring States Epoch, remember, Yao?"

"I remember that your designs were nearly unrecognizable and thus defeated the purpose of having a standard at all."

"Obviously nowadays it's different: either you're Fire Nation or you're Earth Kingdom. But you could still raise a standard, to show everyone who's boss. I'd volunteer to carry it for you," Shang offers earnestly.

"You forget, Shang, that not just anyone can be a standard-bearer. You have to be very, _very_ special," Yao says snidely, implying that his brother is anything but that.

Shang frowns, disappointed. _It's okay, Shang, I don't need a standard-bearer. Shinu would really chew me out._

"Oh, you're right, brother. Lu Ten, you could have Hanxin be your standard-bearer. That would be perfect!"

"What?" Lu Ten sputters, startled into speech.

"The one you choose has to fulfill a number of criteria," Shang declares solemnly. "First, your standard-bearer should be willing to sacrifice his life for you. Second, he should have a strong moral compass, which tells your enemies and allies alike that you are honorable and upstanding. And third, it always helps if he's fabulously attractive, because then your enemies will be distracted. Though you would have to take care not to get distracted yourself. Other than that, it's a great plan. You really should ask Hanxin when he gets back."

… _is it that obvious that I think he's attractive?_

"Uh, I'll think about it," he forces out. He finishes up with Ming Qian and tries not to look so flustered. "Yang, you're in charge."

He unceremoniously slips out of the room to avoid fielding any more fanciful suggestions involving Hanxin. Shang is too canny for his own good, but Lu Ten can't afford to broadcast his feelings for Hanxin to the rest of the company.

He wanders out to the front of the temple, overlooking the stone courtyard. A few of the men are sparring with one another to keep in fighting form, and Lu Ten feels a spark of pride at the sight. It reminds him of those rare times when he and Zuko would be practicing together and actually manage to strain an approving smile past Piandao's stoic veneer.

 _Would they lose their respect for me if they knew?_ Either way, it's not something he wants to risk. He sits down at the top of the steps.

 _'Take care that your true heart's feelings aren't overcome by what you think you should feel or do, Mushi.'_

 _Easier said than done, Master_ , he thinks a little sourly. _Have you ever fallen in love with someone you're not supposed to?_

LLL

The sun is halfway to the horizon before Hanxin, Kongming, and Yin return.

"How did it go?" Lu Ten asks as they approach.

"Everything went exactly as planned," Kongming says at the same time that Hanxin says, "Kongming made an ass of himself with the magistrate."

"Okay…let's go with a less biased opinion. Yin, why don't you tell me what happened?"

Yin looks surprised at being consulted, but explains with equanimity. "Upon entering the town, we were brought to see the magistrate, though not without great trepidation on the part of the townspeople. At first, he was dead set on evicting us, but Kongming convinced him otherwise. Well, his exact, admittedly very poetic words were: 'The Azure Dragon of the East will surely bring golden rain to your town.'"

 _Do all officials actually talk like that?_ Lu Ten wonders. _Is this what I can expect of my courtiers when I'm Fire Lord?_

"The point is," Hanxin clarifies, "the magistrate interpreted his words more like a rain of fire and took it as a threat to burn down the town. He started panicking even though I said you would never do such a thing. Basically Kongming threatened him into letting us stay."

"Well, it worked," Kongming defends himself. "I know you wouldn't actually do that, but he thought you would, and it cowed him into submission. Neither party has anything to lose."

"Except in the event that he preemptively sends forces to attack us as we sleep because he thinks we'll burn the town to ashes. That was rather rash, Kongming," Lu Ten chides.

"You're being paranoid, Lu Ten. These Earth villagers are too mired in hundreds of years of learned helplessness to organize such an attack."

"These Earth villagers are the same ones who have withstood the Fire Nation's attacks long enough to name this war the Hundred Year War," Lu Ten says seriously. "I would give them a little more credit. Anyway, we'll keep extra shifts on watch tonight. You can take the one just before dawn."

Kongming recognizes his dismissal and leaves with a terse nod. Yin follows him into the temple to their temporary infirmary. Hanxin stays where he is, leaning against the pillar of the temple, and Lu Ten absently measures the length of his body where it's molded to the shape of the stone.

At times like this, when they are alone with Lu Ten's repressed feelings, he starts to forget again why this is a bad idea. "Dragons used to be considered a good omen, because they would bring rain to crops," he says. Hanxin nods. "In that sense, you deserve the title more than I do."

He blinks, confused. "You flatter me too much, Captain."

"You know I'm not lying, Hanxin." He notes the vibrant play of emotions over Hanxin's face, like the colorful sunset to the west. There's the vermilion of surprise, a sudden welling of red blood from a hidden wound; the golden gleam of unexpected joy and contentment. Lilac doubt creeping in, hardly noticed at first, but slowly questioning his worth, darkening to the deep purple of guilt—for what? Hanxin has never done anything to defy or disrespect him.

"Of course not. You never lie."

 _If only you knew._

* * *

 **HANXIN**

At night, most of the company pitches their bedrolls outside in the courtyard, too accustomed to long months sleeping under the stars. Hanxin finds himself nestled in a corner with Yao. By the fire, Shang is perched on a stack of cushions dug up from some corner of the temple, preparing to demonstrate his storytelling prowess.

"Lu Ten! You're just in time! I was about to tell the Tale of the Butterfly Lovers." Shang greets their captain fervently as he comes out of the temple's main hall and descends the steps like a god appearing to his worshipers. A powerful god of war, swords belted at his waist, fire beneath his feet, hot blood in his veins, but no—that's not the kind of god he would want to be.

"I wouldn't miss story time with Master Shang for the world." Lu Ten sits down on the bottom step ( _how_ does he make the simple act of sitting down look like grace and elegance embodied?) and looks attentively towards the younger boy

"All right, here we go. Now, we all know how these stories read: there's a beautiful maiden, and a gallant hero, and they meet in adverse circumstances. All the forces in the world can't keep them apart, though, and they persevere in the face of darkness until light shines through in the form of their undying love."

Tuanyuan, the incorrigible knave, winks over at Hanxin. Lu Ten doesn't notice, riveted as he is on Shang's story. He humors the boy too much, but it's rather sweet.

"So we've got our beautiful maiden, Zhu Yingtai, only daughter of the richest, most powerful family in the nation, and we've got our gallant hero, Liang Shanbo, son of a minor provincial administrator. Women back then weren't allowed to learn their letters, so Yingtai disguises herself as a man to go to school in a distant town, where she meets Shanbo. The two are inseparable from the start, so charmed by each other's wit and intelligence and chemistry, but in three long years of brotherly scholarship, Shanbo never realizes that his new best friend is actually a woman, and that she's passionately in love with him."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say Shang chose this story for Lu Ten's benefit," Yao tells Hanxin in a muted aside. "He's your own Liang Shanbo. You're going to have to get a little more forward with him."

"You _should_ know better," Hanxin bites out. "Nothing will come of it. He doesn't feel that way."

"But _how_ do you know?" Yao says a little impatiently. "I'd say he does. While you were in town earlier, Shang spent half the afternoon hitting on Lu Ten for you. I don't know where he learns these tricks; I certainly didn't raise him this way, but judging from our captain's very _bothered_ reactions, he at least thinks you're handsome."

Hanxin silently prays to the unknown god of this temple to strike him down. He's spared further teasing from Yao by the arrival of Sang, who'd been on watch outside the temple's wooden gates.

Oddly enough, he's trailed by a lovely girl from the village, dressed in red silk robes, her braided hair in an intricate up-do, like she's going to a very special occasion. For a girl her age: nothing less than marriage, and yet… her expression, eyes downturned, brow drawn and pained, doesn't match the resplendence of her appearance.

Sang clears his throat in his characteristic cranky manner. "From Shouxiang, a… visitor for you, Captain."

Everyone turns, surprised, to the girl as she comes to the edge of the firelight. Yao rolls his eyes at Hanxin as if to say, "Wow, a real live woman! Imagine that!"

She bows formally. "Forgive me for intruding. My name is Hope, and I've been instructed to convey a message to the Azure Dragon," she says, voice high and tiny with nerves. Her arms clutch each other tightly inside the wide sleeves of her robe.

Lu Ten rises awkwardly and approaches. "That would be me. Can I help you?"

"It is not I who solicits your help, but the magistrate of Shouxiang, and by extension the entire town." She hands him a slip which he unfolds and reads, a frown deepening between his brows. He looks down at her, strangely, with pity in his gaze.

"Tell him I cannot accept this gift," he says. "His concern is unwarranted."

"But my lord," she wrings her hands in unease, "you must understand my situation. I cannot return empty-handed. He will doubt my loyalty."

"I am not a lord," he says patiently, "but I do understand." He turns to Sang, still lingering in the entrance. "Sang, if you wouldn't mind, could Hope stay with you at your post while I draft a message for the magistrate? I won't be long."

Sang raises an eyebrow, puzzled, but shrugs. "Sure, will do."

Lu Ten leaves them, returning to the temple for some privacy, and Shang watches his retreating figure before turning to Sang and Hope. "Or, you could stay here and listen to the story!"

"What story's that?" Sang asks, uninterested in the answer.

"The Butterfly Lovers, only the most classic tale of tragic romance ever."

Sang sounds bored already. "Ugh, no. Tell your abominable sappy story when I'm gone. Could someone bring us out some hot tea, actually? It's a bit chilly."

 _Is it?_ Hanxin wonders. He notices how Hope is shivering, but how much of that is attributable to the evening chill and how much to the circumstances of her visit?

HHH

Yin obliges Sang with a pot of tea, and Lu Ten returns not long after they've stepped out. He skirts the nosy crowd around the fire, though, walking with firm, purposeful steps straight to Sang's post instead.

"Do you think he's all right?" Shang asks at large, sounding only a little put-out at his story being interrupted.

"I don't think he was expecting this," Tuanyuan says, looking unusually grim.

"He'll be fine," Yang says a little more reassuringly, though he doesn't look so certain.

"This really isn't that uncommon in the history of conquest," Kongming feels the need to add. "I personally think he's overreacting."

"I personally would like to overreact by disemboweling you for your flippancy," Hanxin says to himself. Yao overhears him and laughs.

Fortunately, Kongming's violent death is prevented by Lu Ten's return. "Sorry, everyone." He resumes his seat. "Continue, please. I'm dying to hear what happens with Yingtai and Shanbo."

Shang looks startled at the abrupt request, clearly thinking that the time for storytelling had lapsed. "Uh, yes. So, one day Yingtai's father falls ill, and he sends for her to return home. She's heartbroken to have to leave her beloved, but Shanbo offers to accompany her on the eighteen-mile journey. Along the way, she drops hints that she's actually a woman, going so far as to liken the two of them to a pair of turtleducks, and comparing herself to a phoenix and him to a dragon."

He goes on to enumerate a plethora of other highbrow allusions that the poetic Yingtai utilizes to try and clue Shanbo in. This goes on for a while; the degree of Shanbo's cluelessness cannot be underestimated.

"Speaking of dragons, Shang had a good idea," Yao quietly relates to Hanxin. "Well, he had a multitude of bad ideas before that, but he was thinking about requisitioning some glorious Azure Dragon armor for Lu Ten. We're heading to pitched battle at the wall, and what he's got on right now won't do it."

"Mm. That _is_ actually a good idea."

"Other people sometimes have those too. Like yours truly, for example."

"What good ideas have you ever had?" Hanxin wonders spitefully.

"Um, have you been listening? You and Lu Ten being a thing? Granted, I can't take sole credit for the idea, but I'm trying my hardest to sell you on it, and you're—"

"Not listening," Hanxin finishes. He pointedly turns away from Yao and tunes back in to Shang's story, which doesn't seem to have progressed very far in the few minutes where he hasn't been paying attention.

"Anyways, Shanbo is a bespectacled, scholarly hermit with no experience whatsoever with the ladies."

Hanxin resists the urge to cough loudly at Kongming here.

"He fails to catch her drift and can't understand why she's comparing them to a wedded couple. In a last-ditch effort to get him to come to his senses, Yingtai says she'll play the matchmaker between him and her "sister," inviting him to visit their family home in a few months to marry her. Shanbo agrees, and they part ways before reaching Yingtai's village."

"You wouldn't happen to have a sister Lu Ten can marry, would you?" Yao says under his breath. Hanxin pretends he hasn't heard.

"Yingtai returns to her father, and Shanbo goes back to his home. True to his nature, he doesn't realize the truth until his teacher's wife, in whom Yingtai had confided, visits and tells him what a fool he is. Then he's all like, oh dear, I have been a fool, and—?"

He breaks off, because Sang is standing in the gateway again, looking nothing short of livid, another girl accompanying him to see the Azure Dragon. Impossibly, she's even more beautiful than Hope, younger and still more richly dressed. She introduces herself as Yi.

"A request for the Azure Dragon to urgently reconsider Shouxiang's treaty," she says, surrendering another message to Lu Ten, who looks increasingly disappointed in humanity as he reads it.

* * *

 **LU TEN**

'To the Azure Dragon of the East,

We beg your forgiveness for dishonoring you by sending Hope to you, for among our daughters, she is middling in beauty, though excellent in all her other virtues. Your discerning eye is much to be lauded. We long to elevate our worth to your standards in the form of Yi, Shouxiang's most beautiful unwed maiden, and thus prove our willingness to serve you. In return, we ask only that you spare our lives and pass over this village like a dark dream, forgotten when the sun rises.'

 _Although Yi is as entrancing as the sun is bright, we cannot accept her singular beauty._ Lu Ten dashes off characters with angry strokes. No, that makes it sound like Lu Ten wants them to send more women, perhaps for the whole company—why do they so willfully misunderstand him?

He can guess why. Perhaps Shouxiang has previously found this method to be the most expedient in staving off its destruction: one woman's comfort in exchange for the lives of the whole commune. Perhaps that's why it's called Shouxiang: the town that accepts surrender. He wonders if Mongke has ever been responsible for such abhorrent actions. It has to start somewhere, but it will end here.

 _Please do not send any more women._ That can't be misconstrued. _Rest assured, I have the highest aspiration of maintaining the peace between us by any means necessary._

LLL

"So now that Shanbo knows Yingtai's a woman, he's all set to go to her village right away and propose to her. But then, they receive the news that actually, she's been betrothed to some rich guy named Ma Wencai."

Yi has been sent back with Sang and Lu Ten's message. Everyone looks like they want to discuss the gory details, but fortunately Shang takes his hints and pushes on relentlessly, determined to finish his story.

"Shanbo is heartbroken, but he knows he cannot interfere with the match that Yingtai's family has made for her. He pines for months and finally falls ill and dies of lovesickness. Yingtai hears of his death and is also heartbroken. Basically, no one's heart stays intact."

Lu Ten knows that feeling well.

"Months pass and it's finally the day of the wedding. Yingtai's wedding procession sets out for Wencai's village, but on the way, they approach Shanbo's grave. Why did Shanbo just happen to be buried on the side of the road near where Yingtai would pass? I have no idea, but these things do happen. Anyway, at this point, Yingtai's grief is so great that heaven itself interferes, and suddenly, there rise up strong winds that prevent the wedding procession from going any farther."

The reappearance of Sang prevents the story from going any farther, yet again, but this time he's followed by a very handsome young man. His shoulders and chest are broad, but not grossly so. Lu Ten appreciates muscle definition over bulk, and this man is divinely blessed in that department. His forest-green eyes are calm and dispassionate, betraying nothing of whatever he's thinking about being sent here as a peace offering.

Lu Ten stares, incredulous. Surely…this isn't how the magistrate chose to interpret his words?

"Your servant, Song Yu, with a message from Shouxiang." He barely inclines his head as he passes the slip to Lu Ten, too proud to bow. Lu Ten knows what it will say, so he throws the paper in the fire behind him and registers a slight change in Song Yu's expression. He looks guiltily relieved, as if he secretly desired the same treatment as Hope and Yi, for Lu Ten to reject the terms of Shouxiang's peaceful surrender and spare him in spite of the implications for his people.

"Sang, can you…?

Sang knows the drill by now. "Yes, all right." He tugs Song Yu away by the arm and leaves them alone again.

"Hanxin, would you come with me for a moment? I need you." It's rare that he allows himself to sound this vulnerable in front of everyone, but no one really taught him how to deal with this kind of shit.

* * *

 **HANXIN**

"What's this about?" Hanxin asks. They're standing on a verandah at the back of the temple, away from the rest of the company, though what Lu Ten has to hide from them, he can't imagine.

"It's a disgrace, that's what it is. That these proud people think they have to lower themselves to—to pawning off their sons and daughters like this." Lu Ten looks truly distraught, one hand scrubbing his forehead and smoothing out his hair, the other tautly clutching the balcony before him. His voice is ragged and tinged with anxiety.

Hanxin looks away, sensing that he doesn't want to be seen like this. The verandah faces a grove of plum trees. Their fruit, unpicked, lies scattered around their roots. "Some would call it the spoils of war," he says quietly.

"Some," Lu Ten echoes. "Others would call it the spoiling of the human soul."

Hanxin has nothing to say to that.

"But that's what it's come to—they can't believe that we, the Fire Nation army, could possibly leave them unscathed. We came here for respite, not conquest, but they're still convinced that I'm just going to lay waste to their people and their land and their lives."

"What do you want to do?" Hanxin cuts across him, rudely, from an outsider's point of view, but if he doesn't, Lu Ten will talk himself into a pyre of agony. "Captain. What do you need _me_ to do?"

Lu Ten looks at him, some strange residue of shame brightening his eyes. Those can't be tears. That doesn't make sense. He blinks, and it is gone. "I need you to pretend that you're with me."

"I'm always with you," Hanxin responds automatically.

He blows out a tortured breath and looks at the ground beneath them. "Don't make this harder for me. They're under the impression that I want to burn down the whole town, so I need to convince them that I'm actually rejecting these offerings because I'm already spoken for. Please, Hanxin. You're the only one I can ask. The others would just… laugh it off or revile me or—"

He freezes and goes silent as Hanxin reaches out to him and lays a hand on his shoulder, projecting a calm he doesn't feel. "Captain, of course, I'll do it. You don't need to worry about anything."

"Oh gods, thank you," he breathes, nearly voiceless with gratitude. "It's… it's only for tonight. You don't have to pretend for the men; they know we're not actually…—just stand by me, I'll do the talking." Abruptly, he throws his arms around Hanxin in a desperate hug, briefly cutting off his breath. _"Thank you."_

 _If this is dying, maybe I could get used to it._

HHH

The magistrate is a portly man with an overlarge bulbous nose and kind eyes. He must have really thought he was doing what was best. He sits at his desk, stacked too high with papers for such a small jurisdiction, and listens intently as Lu Ten explains the situation, voice confident and steady, with no trace of the hysteria from earlier.

"I mean you no disrespect in returning your well-meant offerings, Magistrate, but the fact remains that I do not care for them, the reason being that I have no need for them. All counsel and companionship I could hope for, I have found in my right hand man." Hanxin mentally raises his eyebrows at this designation, but fortunately he's standing on the right side. "To pretend otherwise would be to wrong us both gravely."

Hanxin chooses to illustrate this point by curling a protective arm around Lu Ten's back, and that does make his captain lose his thread for a moment. But then he smiles and seeks out Hanxin's other hand with his own. The magistrate politely averts his eyes. Song Yu, standing behind them, is probably drowning in this exuberant display of affection. Lu Ten doesn't seem to care.

"You need not worry about the safety of your town. I meant what I said. I will not see it come to harm at the hands of any of the men I command. We will leave you in peace as soon as we are able."

The magistrate presses his palms together thoughtfully. "I had heard of the mercy and benevolence of the Azure Dragon, but I thought it to be baseless rumors. I am gladdened by your words, for now I know it to be true. Go in peace. Your kindness will not be forgotten."

As they leave the magistrate's house, Hanxin's hands slip from Lu Ten. Before he can step through the door, though, a yank on the back of his shirt turns him around to face Song Yu, whom he'd nearly forgotten.

"What was that about? You guys aren't actually together," Song Yu hisses, for some reason in a fury.

Lu Ten's outside already and hasn't heard. Hanxin glowers back at the other man. "So what if we aren't? It saved your hide."

"I volunteered so that no one else would have to!" So this is the source of his indignation—his snubbed sacrifice, of all the priorities to have.

" _So did I,"_ Hanxin seethes.

"I couldn't have guessed. You guys are terrible at acting. He's clearly smitten with you, but he thinks you don't feel the same. He wouldn't even touch you until you did first. The Azure Dragon doesn't deserve a coward like you."

 _Spirits have mercy on your blasphemous and overly perceptive soul._

Lu Ten's looking back curiously now, so he hurries to end this unexpected exchange. "Listen, I'm only going to tell you one thing: you are in debt to the Azure Dragon, and your life's purpose now is to spread the word far and wide about how kind and merciful he is. Got it?"

He turns away but almost turns back when Song Yu snarks back, "That's two things."

 _Always have to have the last word._ He forces himself to be the bigger man and walks off to rejoin Lu Ten.

They walk back in silence, unsure of themselves now that their façade has been dropped. If circumstances had been any different, Hanxin might have enjoyed the pleasant evening—strolling through a sleeping town not so different from the ones back home, alone but for the other, perfectly comfortable in each other's presence. This evening has been anything but pleasant, though, and he's at a loss as to what to do to return them to their easy dynamic.

"What was up with Song Yu?" Lu Ten finally asks. "I thought he'd be happy, but…"

"But instead he looked angry at being let off the hook?"

Lu Ten nods.

"I think he just really wanted to sleep with you. He said he volunteered." Hanxin smiles as Lu Ten chokes in shock. "No, really! Is it that hard to believe? You're a catch: you're smart, handsome, funny, not to mention you're the Azure Dragon…"

"You think I'm handsome?"

 _Oh shit, I'm caught._ "Uh, that wasn't really the focal point, but, yes! I mean, who doesn't?" He flaps his hands vaguely, attempting to convey the paradigm of beauty that is Lu Ten. "You'd have to be a badgermole not to think so."

"And why's that?"

"'Cause they're blind."

He manages to time it so that Lu Ten bursts out laughing just as they reach the gate of the temple grounds, and there is nothing more beautiful on this earth than the sight of his captain, laughing without restraint, illuminated by the firelight and washed of the horror and abject self-loathing of just hours ago.

"Glad to see you back and so happy, Captain." Yao's replaced Sang at the watch post.

"All's well that ends well," Lu Ten says, and goes inside.

Yao catches Hanxin by the arm and gives him a meaningful look.

He shakes Yao's hand off. "Relax, there's nothing to tell. We explained the situation, and the magistrate was understanding, and everyone's happy now."

"He's happier when he's with you."

 _Oh, not this again._

"I'm serious. He likes Shang's stories and everyone's jokes just fine, but when he's talking to you, he really smiles. Don't tell me I'm wrong. Piao, Shang, and I grew up watching theater rehearsals. We know what a fake smile looks like."

 _He's got you there._ Yao's words are sincere, but Hanxin can't find it in him to spill all his woes, not now. "Has anyone mentioned lately that you all are far too meddlesome?" He marches into the temple before Yao can answer. He's had enough of people prodding at his aching heart for today.

Shang smiles brightly at the sight of Hanxin and Lu Ten back among them. "We were waiting for you."

Oh gods, the story's been on hold all this time. Where were they, anyway?

"So, the wedding procession was trapped at Shanbo's graveside, and Yingtai disembarked from her palanquin to go pay her respects. Only when she got there, she was so overcome by grief that she threw herself to the ground and begged the grave to open up and swallow her. To everyone's surprise, the earth did in fact open up and seal her inside, where she rejoined the love of her life. Their spirits rose up out of the grave in the form of butterflies and flew away to live happily ever after. The end."

"How could that be?" Rusted Wok argues, unsatisfied with the ending. "Butterflies can't just spontaneously rise out of the ground. They grow from caterpillars and don't mature for weeks."

"They're not normal butterflies," Shang explains patiently as if talking to a young child. "They're spirit butterflies. They grow from your spirit."

They continue to bicker, everyone apparently very invested in the mechanics of spirit butterflies. Lu Ten declines to arbitrate the debate and excuses himself from the babble.

Hanxin restrains himself from following his captain, for once. He lies awake pondering Shang's story. Shanbo and Yingtai were separated from the love they felt for each other by a lie: the deception of Yingtai being a man. He and Lu Ten have perpetrated quite a different deception, which by virtue of being fiction, can never come true.

Lu Ten has a future, should he survive this war (no, that's not a question. He will. He must.) That future contains his father, and his cousin, and eventually the throne of the Fire Nation. There will be no retainers of the war he's sacrificed so much of his life to, and that includes Hanxin.

He was wrong. This is dying slowly, being close enough to Lu Ten to touch but not to hold, and Hanxin is not sure he can survive it.

* * *

 _One year, six months_

 **LU TEN**

 _Never again,_ is Lu Ten's first thought upon collapsing in his tent at the end of the day's march. They must have made twenty miles today under a sweltering sun that has no business existing this far from the Fire Nation.

The company ended up spending one week in Shouxiang before Lu Ten decided they would have to move on in order to reach Ba Sing Se in a timely fashion. It's only been two days since they left their temporary haven, and six members still haven't recovered sufficiently from their recent skirmishes. Of these, Kai was the only one actually fit enough to march, but the rest had to be bundled onto the rhinos with varying degrees of recalcitrance. Shortage of rhinos meant divvying up the supply packs to avoid overtaxing their beasts of burden. It also explains the horrible cramp in Lu Ten's left shoulder. It feels like a lute string, stretched far too tight, its pitch too high and sharp. That's the only excuse he has for his tone when Hanxin steps into the tent unannounced.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he manages to reply while pressing his shoulders into the ground and trying to iron out the tension, hips raised in some kind of crumpled bridge form.

"Practicing to become a contortionist?" Hanxin guesses. "Are you deserting to join the circus?" He walks over to stand at Lu Ten's head.

"Haha, very funny. What did you need to tell me?" He lets his hips drop and lies on his back, resigning himself to internally groaning while listening to whatever Hanxin has to add to the battalion's list of chores.

"Nothing, actually. I came to check on you because you seemed more tired than usual today. Normally you stay around the fire with the men for a bit and then retire. Are you all right?"

"Yes, perfectly fine, I'm just…" Lying on the ground probably won't do much to convince Hanxin, so he sits up—big mistake. The lute strings in his shoulder feel like they're going to snap. Hanxin catches his hiss of pain as Lu Ten flops back down and comes to kneel beside him.

"You were saying?" he prods, a little solicitously.

"Ugh, okay, you win. My back aches a little, that's all. It's not the end of the world, so you can go to sleep knowing that you did your good deed of the day mother-henning your delicate captain—"

"Shut up and take off your shirt." Hanxin reaches out and firmly clasps Lu Ten's shoulder; at least it's the one that doesn't feel like it's been deformed by today's stress. He rolls Lu Ten over onto his front. "We can do this the hard way, where I manhandle you into relaxation, or…"

"Fine, fine," Lu Ten grumbles, sitting up to pull off his shirt. He shifts over to lie prone on his sleep mat, so that he'll at least be cushioned from the ground, burying his face in his arms. Fortunately, Hanxin can't see him blushing from behind.

Hanxin's hands are a little rough, delightfully so, and they press deep into Lu Ten's spine, trailing down towards his hips but stopping short. "Where do you need it the most?"

 _Could he have phrased it any more suggestively?_ Lu Ten struggles to subdue the waver in his voice. "Left shoulder."

Hanxin presses the heels of his hands into the area, circling them steadily as tension begins to release. "This happened because you were carrying two unevenly weighted bundles all day," he notes as he works. "The one on the left was too heavy for you."

"Yes, I realizethat. _Ow_."

"What you don't seem to have realized," and there's an edge to his voice now, "is that you could have stopped at any time and asked one of us to carry some extra weight."

"Actually, with a troop this size, the disarray that would have resulted would have been—oh, _ow._ If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to actually break my back."

"Permission to speak freely?"

"You've been doing that from the start, why stop now?"

"This is about more than just carrying extra weight, captain. You're constantly risking your life needlessly, trying to save too many. Your strategies put you in the most danger, while ensuring that we make it out alive. You forgo sleep to make sure that others get their rest and recovery, but what about your own well-being?" Hanxin's syllables are hard and tight, not a hint of his usual lighthearted banter. "You're going to be Fire Lord one day."

"And I promise, I won't forget you then," Lu Ten says jovially, but it's wrong, wrong for the conversation Hanxin wants to have.

" _Captain_." He sounds exasperated.

Lu Ten knows that's not what Hanxin's getting at, but he's apprehensive of what his right-hand man really means. "Qizheng said, a general should look on his soldiers as infants, as his own beloved children, and be their companion even in death."

"You're not a general, and you're definitely not anyone's father."

"Semantics," Lu Ten dismisses. "Any commanding officer should practice the same."

Hanxin sighs and stops kneading, just pressing his palms into Lu Ten's back. It's rather peaceful and somnolent, lying here and feeling the warm strength of those tireless hands seep into him.

"Even in death."

" _Especially_ in death," he amends. "Do you think I could live with myself if you all died? No, because the only way everyone could have died is if I hadn't been there to protect you all. It's just the same as it would be for my father if I, his only child, were to die."

"Don't say that," Hanxin says sharply, digging his fingers in again. "Don't ever talk like that." There is a shade of blackest desperation in his words.

Lu Ten winces a bit at the unexpected pain and cranes his head around to frown at Hanxin. "I didn't know you were superstitious about talking about death. That's usually the Ming brothers."

"It's not superstition." Hanxin seems to wilt in on himself, hands slipping away until Lu Ten can feel just the pad of one finger still resting along his waist, a narrow bridge between them. "I just don't like to think of it. That's why you've got to take better care of yourself. I thought you'd at least listen to your cousin if not to me."

 _Zuko?_ "What do you mean? Zuko wasn't a fan of me going to war to begin with, but one time in a letter, he sounded over-the-top concerned about me. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Hanxin bows his head in contrition and shifts away uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, Captain. I asked him to. You were injured, and I was beyond worried. Forgive me."

"No, you've done nothing wrong. We've fought side by side for so long that it's normal to feel protective. I feel the same, about you, about everyone." Lu Ten sits up, feeling a little foolishly exposed, but this is too important not to have out now. He's never seen Hanxin look so uneasy before.

"But that's not it. I just want…"

"What?"

Hanxin looks at him, directly, his eyes like fathomless flame, like the eyes of a dragon. " _You_."

Lu Ten finally understands. The songs over dying embers, the long looks and longer touches, the incessant worry that Lu Ten will one day just wink out like a candle stuttering in the wind… He takes Hanxin's wrist and places that loving hand against his conveniently bare chest, over his heart.

"You _have_ me," he whispers.

Hanxin looks back at him, thunderstruck, and he thinks that no touch, however intimate, could rival the nakedness of his expression: pure adoration and love. Frozen for a moment, he stirs and pulls Lu Ten closer. His hands cradle either side of Lu Ten's face, steady in spite of the height of the moment. "Can I…?"

"Yes," Lu Ten whispers, and if he had known that was all it took, a joyful acquiescence, he would have said it long ago. Would Hanxin have been ready to ask him, then? He doesn't know, but it doesn't matter, now.

Their lips meet with a congruence that was probably carved into them at birth: as long as he lives, no one else's lips will be as perfectly suited to his as Hanxin's. The night is filled with its usual ambient sound, the rustle of wind on the grass outside, but here, the only sound is the susurrus of their breaths and the shift of their bodies as they hold each other close, like music only they can hear.

They break contact for a short moment to breathe, but Hanxin kisses him with his eyes, looking his fill as if his captain is the most beautiful sight he's ever beheld. Lu Ten feels a gentle flush rise to his cheeks under such an unrelenting gaze.

"I can't tell you how much I need you, always."Hanxin places one hand at Lu Ten's jawline, thumbing sweetly at his lips, warm and gentle, at odds with the urgency of his words. He never looks away, unwilling to pass even a moment without laying eyes on Lu Ten.

"Then show me."

That, as it happens, is an invitation to utter destruction.

* * *

 **HANXIN**

The ground beneath them is hard and rough, but Hanxin's touches are soft and worshipful as he presses his captain down. His hands wander endlessly, helpless to linger anywhere for long, too eager to learn his lover's body. This war, both the one raging outside and the one that kept their hearts apart will delay them no longer.

Hanxin lavishes every part of Lu Ten with equal attention, sucking hard kisses on the side of his neck, nosing along his delicate collarbones, listening to the march of his heart. He meanders down that muscled chest, takes one nipple in his mouth, considering it with a deliberate hum as if Lu Ten had asked his opinion of a rare tea. Lu Ten (who has done nothing of the sort) throws one forearm over his mouth to muffle his voice as Hanxin moves to his other nipple with inexorable tenderness. He mouths at the hardened nub, fingers rubbing soothing circles on Lu Ten's hips all the while, and chances a glance upward.

His lover looks wrung out with pleasure already, one hand covering his mouth, eyes shut tight, neck arched and throat bared, the evidence of Hanxin's attentions blooming red across his skin.

"Look at me, Lu Ten," he says, his voice a prayer, reverent but demanding.

Lu Ten opens his eyes, and it nearly undoes Hanxin, the way they widen at the sight of him, wine-dark pupils blown wide with desire. Hanxin tugs his lover's hand away from his mouth and empowers those graceful knuckles and slender fingers with his kisses, as if he can wash away the anguish of being stained with blood. He takes one fingertip into his mouth, gazing unerringly at Lu Ten, and is gratified to see his eyelids flutter, unable to stay open under this onslaught of pleasure.

"Please… I need you," Lu Ten whispers raggedly.

Hanxin smiles around his finger. "Where do you need me?" he teases, pulling off and wandering further down Lu Ten's body. "Here?" he asks between Lu Ten's third and fourth ribs on the left. "Here?" at his navel.

"Spirits absolve me of your ill-timed humor," Lu Ten gripes, pushing himself up to his elbows.

"Yes, alright." Hanxin takes mercy, eases himself down until he's level with Lu Ten's hips. He pushes his knees apart and settles between them, not missing the scarlet rising high on Lu Ten's cheeks.

"And why aren't you naked yet?"

"All you had to do was ask," he murmurs, pulling his shirt over his head.

When he resurfaces, Lu Ten is staring at him with dazed abandon. "You're beautiful," he breathes.

Hanxin considers his lover with a slow smile. "So are you. We could go on like this all night, or," his fingers fidget meaningfully at the hem of Lu Ten's pants, "we could speed things up a little."

" _Yes_."

Some uncoordinated tugging ensues, resulting in them both losing their pants, finally. He lowers himself down to lie flush against Lu Ten, and the feeling of their hard cocks aligned at last sparks a madness in him that can't be quelled. He takes them together in one hand even as Lu Ten pulls him down to claim his lips again.

"Hanxin… _Hanxin_ …" Lu Ten arches up into him, needing to be even closer, every iteration of his name dragged from swollen lips like the crash of the tide on the beach, uncontrollable and shattered.

"Ah, Lu Ten…"

They're approaching the edge, both of them. Hanxin can feel it in the tension of muscles beneath him, the way Lu Ten clutches at his shoulders so fiercely as if he's an anchor on a stormy sea. They're pressed together, chest to chest, and there should be a law dictating that the two of them can never be out of skin-to-skin contact with each other. Hanxin doesn't know how he will _live_ if he's not touching Lu Ten all the time. Fingernails dig desperate bloody ridges into his back, and some distant part of Hanxin's mind thinks that will sting later, but right now, adrenaline carries them inevitably onwards toward their end.

"Please, H-Hanxin, I…I need to…" He's losing coherency to moans wracked with unspeakable pleasure, and Hanxin is utterly lost in the beauty of this man, who by some chance of fate is his now, his to love and adore and exalt. He squeezes their cocks tighter, pushing for a frenzied climax. There's time for slow, tortuous lovemaking, but later. This is now, _now—_

"Let go. I'll catch you," Hanxin whispers. "Go on, Lu Ten."

He does, with a stifled cry, his release sudden and fluid over Hanxin's hand, his cock pulsing hotly against Hanxin's. It's too much all at once and yet too little, Hanxin thinks as his vision dims. All too soon, he surrenders himself to his climax as well, still holding them both firmly and letting Lu Ten's soft gasps guide him as he chases that brief moment of ecstasy and descends back to this plane.

Somewhere, Hanxin musters the energy to sit up and finds that his hand is sticky with their mixed release. He smiles in spite of himself. The mundane will never cease to intrude, always certain of its welcome. On a whim, he takes a chance and licks the fluid from his hand.

"Gross," Lu Ten says, smiling up at him. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but no less bright. Maybe it's just Hanxin's hypersensitive post-climactic state talking, but oh, spirits, the afterglow is real, and _glorious._

"It's not bad. A little bitter, but not worse than some of your cooking," Hanxin remarks, tasting it thoughtfully. "Anyways, it's more efficient than dirtying your clothes to wipe this all up." He pitches himself down to lie beside Lu Ten again. "Next time I'll put my mouth on you, and we won't have to bother with any of this mess."

" _Stop_ talking like that, you're going to kill me."

"Oh, Lu Ten. Who knew my dear sweet captain was such a wilting flower? Ah, but who was it that called himself a fire lily?" He tugs Lu Ten's hand, curled at his side, up to his mouth and presses tiny kisses to his fingers until they unfurl like a new bloom to lightly caress his face. Hanxin closes his eyes, leans into the touch like there's nothing in the world that he craves more. There isn't.

"You never used to call me that. My name," Lu Ten murmurs. "Nearly everyone does, but I wondered why you still persisted in calling me 'captain' or 'sir.'"

It's true. His timid soul could never bear to take that last step and say Lu Ten's name aloud, but it's slipped out and now there's no going back. "I always thought of you as occupying some divine realm too far above me to deal with common names," he admits.

Lu Ten snorts, amused. "Regular person, remember? I'm just a man, like any other."

"Believe me, Lu Ten, I _know_ that you are a man." Hanxin pulls his captain towards him again, hooks a leg over his hips to align certain bits that testify to this fact. Lu Ten giggles and squirms away slightly, sensitive from their activities.

The sweat cools from their bodies, and it gets a little chilly as they lie together still. Lu Ten casts around for his blanket to cover them.

"I shouldn't stay." Hanxin sighs, sitting up. It's for the best.

"Please?" Lu Ten implores. "No one will notice. Even if they do, you have an excuse. You were just taking care of your dear captain and his aching back which he nearly broke today, the silly man."

"Alright, alright." He lies back down, pecks Lu Ten on the lips because he looks so forlorn (a façade, he knows, to lure him back to bed). They exchange lazy kisses for a few minutes before it becomes apparent that sleep is overtaking them both. Lu Ten yawns and turns over, taking Hanxin's arm hostage against his chest. Hanxin doesn't mind. He can feel a heart beat under his hand, one that will resonate with him for as long as he lives.

"I want to take care of you some time too," Lu Ten says sleepily. "One day when this is all over. Come back home with me. You can be my… my chief minstrel or something."

"Mmhm," because there's a long pause there that seems to indicate a required response. Hanxin almost thinks Lu Ten's fallen asleep.

"You can meet Zuko. He'll love you, I know he will. Then when I'm Fire Lord, you can sit next to me. I'll have them bring another chair. There won't be a big fire in the throne room. It scares people."

"Mmhm."

"And everyone will call you Lord Hanxin. No one will ever look at you like you're worthless, ever again, because you're the Fire Lord's…"

"Mm."

"…Hanxin…"

Sleep descends in a quiet exhale of his breath, then long, slow respirations, at odds with the tight grip he maintains on Hanxin's arm. He'll wake up with it numb and tingling from hours of lost circulation, but as long as he wakes up next to his captain, that's agreeable. He files away Lu Ten's sleep-ridden drabbles in the same place he puts every song he's sung to this brilliant man: dreams, and only dreams.

* * *

 **A/N:** Very thorough notes on this chapter, including info on ancient historical periods, my own experiences writing this fic, and other characterizations are found at archiveofourown dot org /works/7019827/chapters/23106351


	8. One Soul in Two Bodies

_One year, six months_

 **OZAI**

"To kill a dragon, you need only put out its weakest point: its eyes," his brother once told him, no hint of a joke in his own. "Stupid and blind with pain, its rage makes it predictable. Without its cunning sight, every inch of a dragon's body becomes a weak point, and you will suffer no lack of choices from which to strike the final blow."

It is fitting that the Dragon of the West should be the one to tell him how to defeat his own kind.

To strike at Iroh himself is impossible. As a general of the highest order, he is well-protected, and his age has not lessened his ability. He is wise and loyal to his country and difficult to beguile or lure into treachery. Before long, he will break through the inner wall of Ba Sing Se and become glorified beyond the reach of anyone. Time is of the essence. Ozai has no recourse but to find the dragon's eyes and put them out immediately.

With half an ear, he listens to his children bickering over dinner about Zuko's neatly peeled bowl of lychees, whose dwindling numbers Azula may or may not be responsible for. Their clamor is the only reason Ozai notices their mother's absence. She'd been feeling unwell today and retired to rest early. Normally she would reprimand them with a clear voice of reason while subtly taking Zuko's side. It's clear enough where her eyes lie. Ozai's, at least, rest with the child who is worthy of his gaze—Azula, the Avatar and rightful heir of her grandfather's name and future throne.

As he thinks about it now, it is transparent: Iroh's eyes are in his son, a much easier target even from thousands of miles away.

"Azula, leave Zuko alone and peel your own lychees," he scolds without heat.

Zuko looks up in surprise at this preferential treatment. Azula pouts but acquiesces. "Yes, Father."

"Your uncle and cousin may be returning soon, after Ba Sing Se falls. I'm sure you've missed them."

Azula rolls her eyes, making it quite clear how much she hasn't missed them.

"Yes, I have," Zuko answers more readily. "I know they've accomplished many great things in the war, but I'll be glad to see them home."

"Pffft—what has Cousin Lu Ten ever done? Do you really think he would make a difference here at home or on the battlefield?" Azula mocks. "If I were in his place, I'd be a general by now. A year and a half at war, and he's got nothing to show for it."

The alacrity and severity of her response makes it sound like this is an argument they've often had in private, but time hasn't diminished their passion. Zuko looks ready to shove all his lychees down his sister's throat to silence her, so Ozai intervenes.

"Do you think he deserves to be promoted then, Zuko?" He tries to betray no expression other than neutral curiosity. "Does he have the qualities necessary to pursue the same path as his father?"

He hesitates, reluctant to endure Azula's criticism again. "Well, for him, the most important thing is making sure that all the men he commands survive. He stops at nothing to save them, even when it puts him in more danger. But that's what makes him a good officer. If all your men are dead, you have no chance of winning. The more that survive, the more likely you are to claim victory."

A child's reasoning, but unexpectedly keen and haplessly in line with the inklings of Ozai's plan. "A wise assessment, Zuko. I very much hope your cousin will reap the reward he deserves." _Albeit for reasons that have nothing to do with rewarding him; quite the opposite._

Before turning in for the night, he pens a letter to Colonel Shinu. The two of them were schooled together for seven years in their youth, and both grew up in the shadow of Iroh's political and military genius. If anyone stands to benefit from his brother's demise, it is Shinu, as well as scads of other officers who'd ever turned aspiring eyes towards Iroh's pedestal, only to be dazed by his brilliance.

Blinded by grief, he will fall, just like the wall he helped bring down.

* * *

 _One year, eight months_

 **HANXIN**

Excerpt from Hanxin's secret journal:

Cons of your better half getting a promotion: you hardly get to see him anymore because he's busy with Important War Councils and other things.

Pros of your better half getting a promotion: you hardly get to see him anymore because he's busy with Important War Councils and other things, which gives you more time to reconnoiter the army's political bearings; gather information on who's who and what's what; formulate elaborate plans to smooth his path; hold secret meetings to enact same plans; and write everything down in your secret journal, none of which you could do with him around because he'd make a fuss about integrity and the pitfalls of scheming, bless his noble heart.

Hanxin doesn't actually have a secret journal, but everything else is true. Lu Ten is at one of said Important War Councils right now, burning the midnight oil and providing a perfect opportunity to hold court in his tent with Hanxin's network of eyes and ears. They sit scattered amid the shadows cast by candles, a ragtag group mostly comprised of members of the original 18th company, but also a few from other units. Under the new status quo, the 18th regiment has absorbed five other companies: the 19th, 23rd, 26th, 27th, and 28th, all of which had suffered significant losses over the course of the war, necessitating their reorganization under a new leader: Lieutenant Colonel Lu Ten.

"The 27th company has been resistant to merging with the 23rd as has been suggested by the higher ups," Yang begins. "Unlike more heterogeneous groups, their firebenders hail almost exclusively from the elitist Red Tower sect of the northwest."

"They made it clear to us that they are very hostile to the thought of cooperating with outsiders," Yin adds dismally.

"The Red Tower sect of Hing Wa Island?" Hanxin asks. Yang nods in confirmation. "Get the Xins to speak with their captain. Xinran mentioned to me once that he and his brothers studied with a master of the Red Tower for three years prior to enlisting. The sect emphasizes philosophy and rites as much as it does the martial arts of bending. If you know anyone in the 23rd who's versed in those fields, connect them as well; it can't hurt."

Yin, who insists on taking notes during these meetings, pens a reminder to himself. Hanxin has half a mind to ask him not to, as any written records pose a risk for being found out, but it probably won't matter much.

"We've been scoping out the 23rd company, and the general atmosphere there is unspirited," Tu reports. "After their leader, Captain Ching, was killed in a skirmish, they've developed very firm opinions about who should replace him, and they are not keen on following the lead of Lieutenant Colonel Lu Ten."

"I should add that their unit is ranked fifth in the whole army for firebending aptitude, and they may have some misconceptions about the 18th's ability to keep pace," Ao says. "Of course, I did my best to alleviate their concerns."

"I've heard these concerns too." Captain Chey of the 19th company is the next to speak. Of all the incoming units, his has been the most welcoming to the change. Chey himself is a bit wild-eyed and nervous in his manner, but he seems to be well-intentioned. "I believe they would be receptive to a joint training session with His Highness, if only to prove a point."

 _His Highness._ Hanxin turns the title over in his mind; no one ever uses it here. On the battlefield, rank is determined by merit, not birthright. He recalls Lu Ten's sleep-addled words to him two months ago when they laid bare their hearts to each other, to stay by his side for longer than just that one night.

It's not his place to serve Prince Lu Ten, though. Someone of low birth like him could never be welcomed in the court of the Fire Lord. No, he will continue to protect and revere Lieutenant Colonel Lu Ten for as long as he is able. In a sick way, he almost wishes the war would never end.

"Uh, Hanxin?"

Shang's anxious voice plucks him back. He clears his throat and nods firmly.

"Duly noted, Captain Chey. Building some trust between the separate units will increase our regiment's efficacy. I'll bring it up with him."

"Among the 26th, 27th, and 28th, all I've heard are rumors about nepotism and how Lu Ten only got his position because General Iroh commanded it." Shang looks just as miffed about it as Hanxin feels. "Does the name of the Azure Dragon count for nothing?"

"It's not true, though," Zhangwei counsels. "My uncle is one of the general's senior aides, and he says Iroh didn't propose Lu Ten's promotion. He was surprised at Colonel Shinu's initiative, but gave his approval without objection."

"Shinu isn't known for his generosity and good will towards all." If Hanxin's assessment is correct, there's something he wants from Iroh, to necessitate such blatant currying of favor. "Though I don't know what ulterior motive he could have, we should still find out. Kongming?"

"Of course." Kongming's attitude has improved drastically and inexplicably since returning to the army's main base. Perhaps he really just hated roaming around the mountainsides and living on the rough that much. Hanxin leaves it to the side as something worth investigating later. Still, Kongming is a relative of Shinu, something like the son of his wife's brother, and has managed to exploit this tenuous connection, which makes him useful.

The candles have burned low by the time they conclude the meeting, and the long shadows flicker gloomily over faces set with grim purpose. They disband with Hanxin's instructions to proceed in mind, though with varying degrees of compliance ("Compose a folk ballad dedicated to the Lt. Colonel? My talents are being wasted," Songtao grouses). Shang lingers after the others have slipped out, fidgeting with something in his sleeve.

"What is it, Shang?"

The boy wordlessly holds out a thin sheaf of papers, a bright smile blossoming across his face, and Hanxin has to fight the urge to do the same as he reads them over.

"When will it be ready?" he asks.

"Rusty Wok and his brothers are hunting down materials. Piao and Yao know some people working in the armory, so they're calling in a few favors to get it quickly. Their estimate for a design of this complexity is about a month, and they can start as soon as we get Lu Ten's seal of approval on the request form. But…"

Hanxin reads the question in his eyes. "You want it to be a surprise?"

Shang nods with enthusiasm. He really is impossible to deny. "All right then." He sets the papers down on Lu Ten's writing table and goes to retrieve the appropriate implements. "You should be glad I have experience signing letters for him, otherwise this wouldn't have worked out."

"Of course. You're the only one we could depend on." Shang beams.

There's ink left over from Yin's copious scribbling earlier, and Hanxin pens a passable imitation of Lu Ten's signature on the order. Shang helpfully retrieves a candle that hasn't been exhausted to light the end of the wax stick Hanxin holds out.

"You know, we're really glad Captain has you to look out for him," he says more seriously as Hanxin lets the melted wax drip onto the paper. "I know he appreciates it too."

"Well, I'm sure he doesn't know a thing, and I'm hopeful that it will stay that way," Hanxin says staunchly. He doesn't correct Shang on slipping up with regards to Lu Ten's title, though he should. They are no longer out in the northwest, safe from the vagaries of military command, and Lu Ten is no longer their captain but their lieutenant colonel. The higher he rises, the harder he falls.

"Why are you so adamant about keeping this a secret? If it's all to benefit him, why not let him know?" Shang asks, puzzled.

He sighs, watches the wax pool in a bloody circle. "I just don't think that he'd approve, that it's not my place to intercede for him."

"If not you, then who? You're the only one who can, because you know him better than anyone. He knows you place him above all things in your heart." Shang scoots to sit closer to Hanxin, as if issuing a challenge with his proximity. "Right?"

Hanxin has to suck in a quick breath of shock at the way Shang speaks so casually about their relationship. He takes the ring that Lu Ten uses for sealing official documents and presses it down on the red wax. As he focuses on counting the moments sliding by, he turns over the truth of Shang's words in his mind. He wonders if Shang has discussed this with his brothers or anyone else at length. Within their own company, he doubts they have anything to hide, but it's not something that can become common knowledge.

At length, he lifts the ring and considers the wax seal hardening beneath, a symbol of what he's done—claimed his liege's name as his own, falsely joined their identities in writing, to all intents and purposes one person split between two bodies.

Is that not what they have, though, through the newly forged unity between them? His life is no longer his own, any more than Lu Ten's is his. They have each portioned out half of themselves to the other through this miraculous accident of emotion.

To answer Shang's question, he says, "Yes." He does not mention that by accident of birth, their bond cannot outlive this war.

HHH

 _One year, nine months_

Hanxin stares out across the training ground, and a field of very skeptical, stony-faced firebenders stares back at him. Normally, he wouldn't be able to see their expressions, since regulation helmets for firebending soldiers come with a white visor painted to resemble a skull—very creative. Right now, the helmets are sitting on the ground next to their owners, each of whom instead holds a bamboo flute to his mouth—hence the skepticism. Historically, the flute has not demonstrated much efficiency as a combat weapon. As a training implement for firebending, however, its value is unsurpassable.

The 23rd and 27th companies stand before him, ten rows deep and twenty wide, clutching their flutes like spears and wondering why in the name of Agni did Lieutenant Colonel Lu Ten assign a nonbender to oversee their afternoon drills? The reason is more mundane than they might believe. Lu Ten had meant to supervise flute practice personally. At the last minute, however, Kongming had turned up to drag Lu Ten away to an urgent meeting with Shinu to discuss logistics for tomorrow's battle, leaving Hanxin in charge.

"Sir, why is this necessary?" one soldier complains. "We don't have time to waste with these idle pursuits, no matter what the lieutenant colonel says." The others echo his sentiment, clearly not thrilled at being compelled to hone their nonexistent musical talent.

"Your firepower is unrivaled; of that, I have no doubt." From watching their firebending warm-ups earlier, Hanxin estimates each of them could easily charbroil a hippo-cow steak in less than a minute. "However, power will do you no good if you overuse it and exhaust yourself prematurely. You must learn to channel your flame closely. One narrow sliver of fire may be enough to achieve what a huge blaze cannot."

He speaks to blank looks and glassy eyes. The philosophy of bending is clearly lost on them, but Hanxin soldiers on. "Let's try again from the top, shall we?"

He suffers through three more repetitions of twelve bars of cacophony that don't sound remotely like the national anthem before capitulating. They've been at this for two hours, and they're not likely to improve much more at this rate. Lu Ten will forgive him for moving on to the next stage of training early.

Behind him stand thirteen heavy barrels filled with sand, arranged in a circle with one in the center. They each contain an unlit torch, stuck upright in the sand like incense sticks. The one in the center is painted black.

"On my command, direct your fire towards the black torch only. Lighting any other torch is forfeit."

He climbs onto an empty barrel so he can get a better view of the field all at once. It's a distance of about thirty feet from the front row, but a skilled bender should be able to bridge that gap with ease. The men look more confident now, readying their bending stances, or perhaps they're just relieved that music class is over.

"Fire!"

* * *

 **LU TEN**

The meeting with Shinu lasts well over an hour, with the colonel nitpicking every step of Lu Ten's plans. The 18th, 19th, 26th, and 28th units will provide primary cover on the western edge for the attack being launched tomorrow at the wall, the first in a series of many to come. The 27th and 23rd will provide backup as necessary. By the end of it, Shinu seems begrudgingly satisfied with the arrangements, only contributing some minor improvements to the plan. It begs the question of why he was so concerned in the first place, but Lu Ten knows better than to ask and get rebuked for insubordination. Better to let Shinu's micromanaging spirit work him into an early retirement, in the best case scenario.

The colonel accompanies him back to the training grounds where he left Hanxin en route to speak with General Iroh. Kongming flanks them at a respectful distance. Lu Ten is glad that he's not yet high enough up the ranks to be besieged by meetings with a never-ending parade of officers all the time—just most of the time.

As they draw closer to the training field, he sees Hanxin at the head of the ranks, motioning for the soldiers to discard their flutes, which they do so all too gladly. He grimaces, wishing he didn't have to subject Hanxin to such discord, but no one else can be entrusted with such an important job.

"Flutes?" Shinu queries, crossing his arms and frowning down at Lu Ten. "Surely you could have assigned them standard drills to keep them occupied until your return?"

"I've personally witnessed the effects of playing wind instruments as a form of cross-training for firebenders. It improves air control and targeted aim by leaps and bounds," Lu Ten attests. Of course, he doesn't mention that his sample size consists of one student, his eager young cousin.

"Hm," Shinu grunts, unconvinced.

Hanxin gestures towards the torches, giving instructions for the next part of the drill: light the black torch in the center aflame without touching any of the others. Lu Ten approaches from behind, lingering at the edge of the field about thirty paces away, far enough to command a view of all the ranks assembled before them. Curious, Shinu also pauses to watch the firebenders, who stand poised to strike at Hanxin's command.

"Fire!"

Dozens of streaks of flame soar overhead, speeding towards the torches, and all of them manage to evade the black torch entirely, either extinguishing themselves in midair, setting fire to all the other torches, or errantly making their way towards Hanxin, who is standing right beside them and who is also _not a firebender—_

Lu Ten almost realizes too late, breaking every record known to man moving fast enough to get between Hanxin and the benders to intercept their fire. The intervention lasts less than five seconds, but it feels like an eternity that he crouches there, the fire from his defensive blast radiating outwards and driving back the men's, without being able to turn around and see to Hanxin.

At last, he straightens up, breathing heavily, and addresses the assembled men.

"My nine-year-old cousin could do better than that," he spits. "You're just as likely to hit your allies as your enemies, with an aim so poor."

Chastised, they kneel as one, offering their apologies, but Lu Ten has no ears for that.

"Are you all right?" he demands of Hanxin.

Hanxin, who hasn't twitched a muscle this whole time, hops down from the barrel and calmly starts towards Lu Ten, one hand already outstretched in comfort, but he retracts it as Shinu approaches, Kongming in tow. "I'm not hurt, thanks to your reflexes. I would have dodged them just fine, though. Don't worry so much, Lu Ten."

Shinu frowns upon hearing Lu Ten addressed by name but doesn't remark on it. "Lieutenant Colonel, what am I to understand from this? Do you mean to tell me you placed a firebending unit under the command of a nonbender?"

Lu Ten opens his mouth to reply, but Kongming takes the opportunity to defend him. "Sir, Hanxin is our unit's most capable strategist. The Lieutenant Colonel's unconditional trust in him more than compensates for any lack of bending ability."

That much is true, but Kongming's sycophantism irritates him more than it should, especially given the scholar's history of antagonism towards Hanxin for perceived lack of ability. What makes him turn his colors now?

"Be that as it may," Shinu says, looking supremely dissatisfied with Lu Ten, "these men need a proper master to guide their instruction." He turns to Kongming. "Summon Captain Chey to accompany… Hanxin. I don't care what he's doing, get him over here."

"Yes, sir." Kongming hurries off.

Lu Ten bristles at Shinu's casual commandeering. Technically he's within his rights to order Kongming around, in spite of his blatant disregard of Lu Ten's presence. "Sir, I am capable of leading their exercises myself, now that we've finished preparations for tomorrow—"

Shinu is shaking his head before Lu Ten even finishes speaking. "No, we need to have words with your father. I'm sure he will be able to impart some wisdom to you about the proper command of a regiment. Such things can't be learned by blundering your way through." To Hanxin, he says, "Take care not to give your commanding officer reason to doubt his trust for you. Know the limits of your undertakings."

He sweeps off without waiting for a response, clearly expecting to be followed. Lu Ten fumes at him, wanting nothing more than to stay with Hanxin. He's more shaken than he wants to admit.

"Go, Lu Ten," Hanxin urges, his eyes searching Lu Ten's earnestly, trying to banish his worries. "Chey will know to leave things to me. Don't rile Shinu up; he'll just make trouble for you."

Lu Ten sighs and nods. "I'll see you tonight." He moves to follow Shinu slowly as if trudging through quicksand. He has never wanted to see his father less, but at least there, he may have an ally.

* * *

 **HANXIN**

 _Know the limits of your undertakings,_ Shinu had said, a veiled threat. What the self-righteous oaf doesn't know is that Hanxin's chosen undertaking is to support his lieutenant colonel in any way necessary, and that his means are unlimited.

"I'm back."

Hanxin knows that he's back, because of the slight breeze through the tent's open flap, because of the distortion of the shadows on the opposite wall, because of the shallow breath he takes in just before speaking—all of these register subconsciously well before the impact of his words. All the same, he can't deny the slight hitch in his breath and leap of his heart at Lu Ten's return, and the desire to turn and look endlessly on his love is overwhelming.

He faces Lu Ten and employs the thrice-over strategy as he sometimes does when they have been parted. One look, head to toe, to assess for injury. A second to assess his mood. A third just to linger and drink him in. Lu Ten waits patiently, a distant echo of laughter lingering in the twitch of his lips, but it drops as Hanxin speaks.

"You're late."

"I know." He accepts a cup of tea from Hanxin and sits down on the only stool in the tent (his promotion does not come with upgraded furnishings). "Shinu was very opinionated about the training regimen."

"Ah." He would be. "I'm sorry, it was presumptuous of me to try to conduct the firebending part—"

"Don't be," Lu Ten says brusquely. "You did exactly what I needed you to do: sound a wakeup call for those men. Captain Ching, may he rest in peace, certainly didn't have a good idea of his soldiers' capabilities or lack thereof. That will have to be remedied immediately after tomorrow's engagement."

He takes a long sip of tea, vacant eyes looking past the rim of the cup as if their spirit had been extinguished. Hanxin breaks the pause, which is close to becoming an uncomfortable silence, something they haven't shared in a while. The stress of the preparations must be unbearable; Lu Ten's state has never been this inconstant before a battle.

"Did you speak to your father?"

"Yes, afterwards. Shinu really went out of his way to get me in trouble with him. Apparently going to such extreme lengths to protect you, my most loyal lieutenant, is unbecoming of my dignity," Lu Ten says, resentment in his voice. "That is, if I had any dignity when it comes to you. I cannot risk your life, ever."

Hanxin smiles tightly. That is not how these things work. "What did General Iroh think?" he asks, even though he knows. Zhangwei's uncle has already sent over a detailed report on the meeting, though ultimately it was unnecessary. Iroh was not troubled by his son's behavior, even going so far as to praise his dedication to his men's well-being.

"He didn't say much in front of Shinu. He wasn't displeased, though." Lu Ten provides a vastly redacted version of their conversation. "My father has much more on his mind than minor transgressions like these."

"Ah _._ " _So what's causing his dark mood, if not a reprimand from his father? "_ Is that all that kept you so long?"

"I ran into General Bujing later, when I finally escaped Shinu. He took great pleasure in regaling me about how my father had already led a thousand men against the western coast when he was my age." He drinks again, an automated turn of the wrist as he raises the teacup to untasting lips. "I have a lot of catching up to do."

"Out of curiosity, how many does Bujing's son currently lead?" Hanxin asks tartly. He sits down at Lu Ten's feet rather than stand and hover over him. He's had enough people sneering down at him and telling him how inadequate he is ( _isn't_ ) today.

"I don't know…? Well, he actually joined the navy, so his command would be measured in ships. But probably no more than seven hundred."

"And how many do you command now?"

"Five hundred and fifty-two." He drains his cup and rests his forehead in one palm, speaking to the immovable ground. "To think that just two years ago, I had exactly one charge: Zuko. And now? Everyone expects me to emulate my father. Five hundred and fifty-two lives for me to deliver home safely."

Hanxin leans forward and props his head up on Lu Ten's lap, but his liege remains unmoved, staring blankly down in reverie. "I don't know if I can. Tomorrow…"

His heart sinks. Hanxin had read it in him when he first walked in, but he'd misjudged the intensity of his grim mood. "You don't have to know. You just have to do it. Who cares what Bujing or Shinu think? They don't know the true measure of your abilities."

His words go unheard, and Hanxin closes his eyes, tries to relax into the unforgivingly hard muscles beneath his cheek. There is no respite there, not while Lu Ten remains so tense. He stands and holds out a hand. Lu Ten takes it automatically, uncomprehending.

"I need you to do something for me."

"Anything." His voice is low and earnest, in spite of his low mood.

"Stand here." He goes over to the corner where earlier, Shang dropped off a new set of armor, the result of his divinely inspired plan to protect his commanding officer. "Put this on. It's the joint artistic effort of the Dai and Wok households: your Azure Dragon battle dress."

There's an audible gasp as he displays the full set, from top to bottom, gleaming metal against supple leather. "Did you really think we were going to let you wear the standard issue like the rest of us?"

"You shouldn't have," Lu Ten says faintly. "I'm… if people see it, they'll think…"

"The people who will be seeing you up close like this will _not_ be thinking anything after you've slashed their throats open, so I don't see why you need to worry. Just humor me, all right?"

Lu Ten sighs, but there's a tiny smile fighting to return to his lips, and Hanxin will count his small victories for now. "Okay."

* * *

 **LU TEN**

The dragon armor is a labor of love. He sees it in the intricacy of every tiny overlapping scale, each one painted a minutely different shade of blue and sewed securely to the next with a level of care not afforded the ordinary soldier. The spectrum ripples from midnight sky to blue jade, over his arms and torso down the skirt, backed by light mail, to end at his knees. He raises his arms to let Hanxin fasten the plates tightly with ties underneath. His fingers hardly fumble as they work, and Lu Ten wonders how he would even go about putting this on himself.

"You should wear black under this. Wok and the rest tailored some new robes to go with the ensemble, but I forgot to put them on you. They were quite adamant, though: none of your usual red and gold. It ruins the color scheme, or so I'm told," Hanxin informs him gravely.

"Why aren't they here to personally bestow their wisdom on me?" He pulls in a moderate breath as Hanxin cinches a broad belt with a simple but tastefully coiled dragon design around his waist. The chest plate rises with him, not at all constrictive, its matte silver surface embossed with the character for 'fire'.

"Can't you guess?" Hanxin's question is a flirtation and an invitation in one. His voice, a decadent whisper, strays much too close to Lu Ten's ear. He shivers involuntarily as Hanxin moves around to his front to strap his bracers on, leaving him bereft of the warmth of his body.

He can guess.

"I can't claim full responsibility for the idea," Hanxin continues. "Shang came up with it at first. I don't think he slept for three days while drawing the designs. I got roped in because they needed your seal of approval on the requisitions form for nonstandard uniform. Which, come to think of it, you weren't supposed to know about, but what's done is done. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, you understand."

Lu Ten snorts at the pure lack of remorse in Hanxin's admission. "I see. What else have you been hiding from me?"

"Well, they also needed your measurements to give the armory so it would fit you perfectly," Hanxin says, almost as an afterthought. "Those weren't difficult to get; you sleep like the dead."

Lu Ten blushes a little at the thought.

"I'm not surprised you didn't notice what they've been up to. You've been busy out of your mind meeting with all the generals and captains of the new units and every other nobody who thinks they suddenly have a stake in your life."

Hanxin picks up a helmet last of all, a fierce piece with sharply cut cheek guards that taper past his chin. A resting dragon is carved on top. He sets it down over Lu Ten's head and ties the strings underneath his chin with finality, betrayed only by a slight tremor in his hands.

"Hanxin?" He settles his grip on Hanxin's forearms and slides across bare skin to clasp the other's hands.

Hanxin shakes his head ruefully. "It's nothing. Only… you don't see yourself clearly at all, do you? As far as I'm concerned, you are perfect. You started and ended the northwest campaign with fifty men, all whole and still battle-worthy. Your field record is ninety-five victories to six defeats, with four indecisive outcomes, over eighteen months. What's more, you did it all without prior experience. Even if Iroh's command exceeded yours when he was this age, he could never lay claim to the rest of your achievements. Bujing's an old fool: you're not your father, and you don't need to be him."

He quirks a smile of defiant triumph as he finally finishes his tirade, as if expecting to be contradicted in vain. Lu Ten sees his own awestruck look of wonder mirrored back at him in limpid eyes.

"You sound like you've rehearsed this quite a bit," he says, and it's only half an accusation.

"I may have been running propaganda for you lately; nothing too audacious, don't worry. If you hear a Ballad of the Azure Dragon floating around camp, try not to act too shocked. It looks ungracious."

He feels an irrational outpouring of love for the one before him; usually it's just a thin stream, but now he may spill the rest of his soul and it will not be enough. "Of course, my most faithful butterfly."

"See, you just destroyed the mood. Pet names, at this time?"

"At what time should I bring them out, if not when we're alone together? Perhaps during a meeting with Shinu, or during training exercises with everyone?"

Hanxin laughs. "Oh my _god,_ come here, you beautiful ridiculous—"

Later, with Hanxin pillowed on his chest in peaceful repose (spreading wholesome rumors is hard work, he gathers), he considers his lover's impassioned words. For obvious reasons, Hanxin has a rather strong bias in his favor, but on the other hand, everything he said was true. What Lu Ten has undertaken in a short span of time is not to be scoffed at. Age is no indicator of wisdom, he reminds himself. Perhaps he'll look up Bujing and Shinu's old records sometime to make himself feel better. He can only hope that his lucky streak will hold out during tomorrow's battle, now that so many are depending on him.

LLL

His fears are put to rest after the first battle. The 18th regiment moves smoothly to counter every strike from the Earth army, desperately trying to defend their city. They have the advantage of the high city walls, but the Fire Nation army has the knowledge that the fortress is not as impregnable as the centuries have told. Sooner or later, it must capitulate.

The 18th regiment lays down cover for the artillery units operating at the wall, bombarding its stalwart surface with all manner of explosives. The earthbenders' retaliation is swift and harsh, but Lu Ten's men have trained well. Even those who doubted him at first grow to agree that under his watchful eye, no lasting harm can come to any of them. The first battle passes, and the second and the third. Within a month, word spreads of the invincible Dragon of the East, Lieutenant Colonel Lu Ten, who moves like lightning, divine in his speed and lethal where he touches the ground. Men from other units wonder if they can possibly be transferred to the 18th (they cannot—there is no space because there have been no fatalities).

LLL

 _Two years, two months_

The wall still stands, though, and so the war continues. With the passing of a cold winter, it has been over two years since they left the Fire Nation. Spring arrives when the last of the snow melts from the mountains far to the west. The conflict at the wall had naturally died down during the cold winter months, but that's about to change. Soon they'll set out for the east, to a different stretch of wall that holds promise to be breached. Perhaps this time, they will be successful, and then this nightmare of a war can cease. But then what?

Then he will go home, and all the men under him will go to their own homes. The Dais to Ember Island, the Woks to Shu Jing, Kongming to Jizhou Island, Chey to Yu Dao, and Hanxin to Kanto, far, far away.

No, that's not right. Hanxin is his better half, his soul's twin. To go home without him would be to return with less than he left with.

He resolves then: he will not let it happen. He will return with Hanxin, or not at all.

* * *

 **A/N:** This chapter was written while listening to endless repeats of the _Nirvana in Fire_ soundtrack. Check out some long rambly notes here: archiveofourown dot org /works/7019827/chapters/24577464 for more info on this amazing show!


	9. Dragonslayer

**A/N:** Fair warning: this chapter reads a bit choppily, at least in my head, but hang in there. It is unfortunately very plotty which is not my forte; don't worry, it will all be explained (kind of, maybe) later.

* * *

 **KONGMING**

Shinu unwraps the scroll Kongming brought with him for this evening's report and reads it slowly. Each line his eyes track seems to dig another furrow between his brows, and that's surely bad news. When he reaches the end, he doesn't look up, but instead blows out a long, contemplative breath. Kongming grows uneasy at the awkward stretch and starts to speak, but his uncle lifts a finger for silence.

For several moments, Shinu says nothing, evidently deep in thought, but finally, he stirs and seems to be back in order. Turning to the messy array of correspondence on his desk, he unearths a bit of scrap paper and reaches for a calligraphy brush.

As he starts inking his brush and preparing to write, he addresses Kongming once again. "You said this was intercepted from a white dove flying northwesterly?"

"Yes, sir. It's still in our care, should we choose to release the missive."

"Hm." Shinu holds the scroll out, not looking up from his writing. "Read it."

Surprised, Kongming takes the letter and as he does so, tries to sneak a glance at what the colonel is writing. He doesn't dare interrupt to ask though, and his uncle gives no further indication, so he straightens out the paper and reads the message. It is brief yet packed with mystery and raises more questions than it gives answers, as he had hoped upon receiving the intercepted message from one of their scouts.

 _General How,_

 _The Dai Li has decided to join the Council of Five in the fight for Ba Sing Se. Projected 1000 earthbenders strong from the Danshui plains, skirting southwestern tip of Lake Laogai due to proximity to Shizuishan underground coal fire and potential for firebenders' advantage. Anticipate arrival at the inner wall first week of Locust Tree Month bar any delays._

"What do you think?" Shinu throws out casually, as if it's perfectly normal for a high colonel like himself to ask the opinion of an unranked foot soldier on military matters.

"…Sir?"

"Oh, come on, _think._ Start with differentiating between truth and falsehood. How much information in this letter is actually reliable? Don't go believing everything you read, now. This isn't school, my boy."

"I…" He tries to gather his stumbling thoughts, recall the maps he's seen of the surrounding area. "Danshui lies just to the east of Ba Sing Se, and we've practically drained that swamp. Any earthbenders who used to live there will have either fled the area or been destroyed by our forces. There can't be enough to still maintain a military presence of a thousand strong."

"Good!" Shinu punctuates this with a curt upward stroke of his brush, but apparently he's not finished. "And?"

"And… General How - the high commander of Ba Sing Se's entire army - this letter is unsigned, indicating the sender assumes How will know his identity. If it's someone important enough to communicate directly with How, it's unlikely that this is their first communication."

"A sound conclusion." Kongming wonders how much of that Shinu actually heard, as he seems to be focusing wholeheartedly on a couple of complicated characters, only pausing to reiterate: "And?"

"And… the coal fire." Something about that doesn't ring right with him; it's too deliberate of a detail. He puzzles it around in his brain, uncomfortably aware of Shinu's keen regard, waiting for him to supply an answer. "It's just too much information… a coal fire like this is a safety hazard for Ba Sing Se: any high-ranking general presumably knows of it already, so why would they need to justify their detour so explicitly? That leads me to think that they want us to move troops to ambush them by the south side of the wall, where we think they're going to pass, but in fact, they're going to take a different route to avoid us."

Shinu laughs shortly. "I forget how little of war you've seen yet. But I suppose that's forgivable." There is no humor in his voice. "They won't take a different route. They will pass by Shizuishan, and they want us to be there to meet them. Can you think of why that might be?"

He shifts his weight uncomfortably, very confused at this point. This isn't what he anticipated when his uncle recruited him to do some work on the side in exchange for a stable, long-term position back home: a little toadying, a little exchange of inside information on his rising star of a lieutenant colonel. He won't say that it isn't because he's felt more than a little slighted by Lu Ten's clear favoritism of Hanxin over Kongming's own skill set, these past few years. But it's nothing more involved than that.

"Consider this, nephew: if you want to set a trap for a moose-lion, do you tempt it with a nice juicy carcass or a posse of hunters ready to shoot it down?"

Personally, Kongming would prefer to stay away from the moose-lion in the first place, as well as any and all terrible metaphors.

"We're the moose-lion. Of course we're going to come running when we hear about an underground coal fire that could potentially annihilate a thousand earthbenders who would otherwise go on to boost the resistance of Ba Sing Se. This letter was sent with the intent of being intercepted by the enemy. It's a trap. Who even uses doves for war correspondence? And in the middle of the day!" Shinu snorts in disbelief.

Kongming takes a moment to wrap his mind around this turn of events as Shinu composes himself. "But why…? Why would they tell us about something that would give us an advantage?"

"Why indeed," Shinu repeats drolly, not inclined to elaborate. "You're still missing a couple of major points here. How do you expect to pass your exams back home if you leave the job unfinished?"

He tamps down the urge to point out that the civil service exam is unlikely to ask open-ended questions about obscure letters sent by mysterious entities _in a foreign nation_. "Next month is the month of Locust Trees, but they could arrive much sooner since they're unlikely to be as large a force as they claim to be."

"That's transparent, practically a freebie. You'll have to do better than that," Shinu dismisses. "They'll come sooner rather than later, obviously, but I'm looking for something else here. Who is _they?"_

"The Dai Li?"

"Yes, who are they?"

"I…don't know." He really doesn't.

"Ah, what do you know." Shinu sighs in disappointment. "Let's put you to work doing something you do know, how's that?" He finishes up the letter he's writing been writing on and off throughout their conversation, and to add to Kongming's perplexity, turns over yet another stack of papers on his desk. He selects one document, stamped with a luxurious red dragon seal, and lays it side by side with the first letter.

"This," he indicates the one with the dragon insignia, "is a sample of General Iroh's handwriting. And this," he indicates the letter he himself just penned, "is a copy of a memorandum that needs to be rewritten in his handwriting." He smiles triumphantly, as if this is an ingenious plan he has just come up with - but to what end?

"You have considerable skill with calligraphy, do you not?" He vacates his seat with exaggerated magnanimity and gestures for Kongming to take his place. "Sit, nephew. Now is your chance to rewrite history."

Bewildered, Kongming does as directed, but he can't hold back a thread of protest. "Uncle, this is… do you mean to say that you're trying to usurp General Iroh's authority - ?"

"Have a care with your words, Kongming," Shinu says sharply. "Your orders are all you need to bear in mind."

"Yes, sir." He turns to read the memorandum, and it only confirms what he feared. He lowers brush to paper and begins to lay a trap.

* * *

 **SHINU**

"I'll issue an order to have you transferred," he promises his obviously uneasy nephew. No, uneasy is too mild - he's outright disturbed. The learning curve of death is rather steep, it's true. They'll have to work on that. "I can always use another personal aide. No need to go and get yourself killed too."

Kongming looks up, eyes misty with a hint of what could have been gratitude if he weren't so unnerved at his own betrayal. "Thank you, uncle."

He watches the boy leave, eyes subdued and grim, forged letter in hand, a facsimile of General Iroh's script. The Dragon of the West shapes his characters broad and wide, every stroke generous and unflinchingly confident in their placement. They say a man's handwriting is like his heart. Shinu flips through a sheaf of his own journal entries and then turns them over, hiding his cramped, spare scribble from view.

Currently, Iroh remains stationed at the northeast corner of the inner wall, where they have the highest chance of breaking through. Historically, the northwest quadrant was heavily fortified against invaders from the mountain tribes, and the southwest against desert raiders, but throughout the centuries, few attackers have rallied from the northeast. It's the perfect spot to mount an attack.

The units under Colonel Shinu have been assigned to the eastern edge, just north of a massive lake, Lake Laogai. The land here is rolling and hilly, making it difficult to transport heavy artillery. The Earth Kingdom forces are aware that they have the advantage here, and Shinu suspects that Iroh knows this as well. Any battles fought on this front are unlikely to have much effect on the condition of the wall. Low stakes mean lower mortality rates and perhaps the chance of his son living out the rest of the war unharmed. He wouldn't bet money on those odds, though.

Tomorrow, Lieutenant Colonel Lu Ten will receive orders directly from his father to head southwest and guard the perimeter of Lake Laogai against an incursion of earthbenders from the south.

He will not question his orders as he would have if they'd come from Shinu himself, whom he knows as an overbearing martinet who won't hesitate to send him on a suicide mission (too right).

He will obey without question and immediately march his troops down to the far end of the lake, where he'll be squatting right on top of a massive coal fire buried deep underground.

He will fall prey to the unexpected attack of the mysterious Dai Li, a name that most firebenders think only exists in legend, formed by the Earth Avatars and Earth Kings of centuries past.

He will perish in hellfire, too blinded by his own glory to see his end coming. Neither Iroh nor his son will outlive the war.

Shinu rolls up the letter and nods to himself, satisfied at the progression of his plot. This pair of dragons are the last of their kind. Prince Ozai will be pleased.

* * *

 **KONGMING**

The letter seems to weigh him down, making him drag his feet across camp to slow its delivery to the intended victim. He stops before the modest tent that houses Lu Ten's headquarters. Maybe, if he's busy elsewhere, Kongming can just… leave and pretend none of this ever happened, that he's not complicit in a daring revenge plot, that everything will be all right.

Any hope of that is dashed when Hanxin steps out and seems to immediately lock onto his position, cowering outside the entrance.

"What is it, Kongming?"

"A… a letter for the Lieutenant Colonel, from General Iroh. Colonel Shinu asked me to pass it on." He holds out the scroll and is relieved to see that his hand only shakes slightly.

"I'll take it then." Hanxin receives the scroll from him, then frowns at him. "Is there anything else?"

"Don't you… want to read it first?" It hits him, then, that Hanxin is the last thing standing between Lu Ten and his demise. If Hanxin notices that something is off, with the writing, or the seeming inexplicability of Iroh's orders, or even Kongming's own demeanor at the moment - he can't be described as anything less than jittery - then there is a chance that he'll convince Lu Ten think twice about this.

"This is addressed to Lieutenant Colonel Lu Ten; how could I presume to read it first?" Hanxin frowns and looks more closely at him. "Are you all right, Kongming?"

Ironic, that Hanxin should be the one to ask him if he's well. _No, not in the least._ But there's nothing he can say or do to explain the situation without implicating himself. "Yes… I'm fine. Well, I'll be going now." He inclines his head awkwardly and turns roundabout to flee, Hanxin's puzzled gaze boring into the back of his head.

History is written by the victors, but somehow, he doesn't feel as if he has won.

* * *

 **A/N** : Notes! Archiveofourown dot org /works/7019827/chapters/27294144

May be a helpful read, slightly. Thank you for reading! I promise this will all end happily someday.


	10. Red Autumn Pomegranate

**A/N:** Warning for sexual content and excessive feels :)

* * *

 _Two years, two months_

 **LU TEN**

Lu Ten flips through a discouragingly tall pile of memoranda on his desk and sighs. Even though he's a hundred miles from Shinu now, his commanding officer still manages to occupy all his time and energy. In the month leading up to their anticipated date of engagement with the mysterious Dai Li, Shinu has decided that he may as well make up the time by reviewing and redrafting every policy ever known to the Fire Nation military in the name of increased efficiency. Missives find their way to Lu Ten on a near-daily basis, as if their war hawks aren't already overburdened, and at this point, Lu Ten has read and annotated enough drafts on training drills, firebending formations, promotion policies, and even war rhino breeding standards to wallpaper the entire Agni Kai arena back home. He suspects that Hanxin does his best to divert and redelegate the less relevant memos away from his desk to preserve his sanity, but there's still so much.

A detailed diagram catches his eye, and at least there's an interesting reprieve from columns upon columns of tiny, self-important script. He tugs the paper out from its position halfway down the stack. At first glance, it resembles a mechanical drill like the kind used for oil rigs, but more advanced. It seems more akin to an armored, manned vessel attached to numerous drilling implements, and the scheme advertises its capability of boring through stone.

It sounds promising, an innovative solution to this war of attrition, and Lu Ten looks for an addendum on the page indicating the author of the plans, but before he finds it, a familiar voice greets his ears.

"Why didn't you tell anyone it was your birthday?" Hanxin sweeps in looking disgruntled, for all that it is Lu Ten's birthday. "In fact, this is your third since we've been here, and you never said a word."

He glances up from the papers with mild amusement. "How did you find out?"

Hanxin holds up a long, slim-necked bottle by way of an answer. "A messenger from your father came by with this vintage, citing the occasion to be your twentieth birthday."

Lu Ten looks more closely at the label on the bottle, characters daintily inscribed in piercing vermilion, and feels a stab of sentiment at his dear father's gesture. _Red Autumn Pomegranate_ —so it's clearly not just meant for his birthday.

"The first year, as I recall, my birthday happened right around the time we'd just gotten off the ship and arrived at the base. Things were hectic, so I didn't mention it. Then last year, I believe I spent my birthday in a near-coma because of that phenomenal concussion I got from the battle at Iron Hill."

"You don't need to remind me of that time," Hanxin says darkly.

"Cheer up. No one asked, so I didn't mention it. Plus, it's Qingming Festival today: not exactly a time for celebrating the living."

Hanxin frowns. "Well, when else should you celebrate your life? You can still make some time for the dead."

"I know. I think that was rather my father's intent when he sent along this gift." Lu Ten stands, a little unsteady from sitting cramped at his desk all day. The young spring sun still sets relatively early in the evening, and outside, its rays slant across the horizon at a weak angle. "I haven't spoken with my mother in a while."

Sometimes, Lu Ten isn't sure if he really remembers her face. He doesn't think of her often because it's easier not to get distracted by thoughts of what could have been. He was only six when she passed, taking with her any chance of having a younger sibling and a whole family. But then Aunt Ursa entered the royal family, and later Zuko and Azula, and he didn't pause to think of what he had lost for joy at what he had gained.

It's odd that he remembers things about her, the way she used to make the most fascinating creatures from folded paper, and how her eyes were dark brown, not deep gold like the rest of the royal family, and how this brand of pomegranate wine was her favorite, and so many other things.

… but not her face, nor her last words to him, nor the sound of her voice. It has been years since he properly paid his respects, and the first time since the war began. Perhaps his father has begun to worry that no one in this world besides himself still remembers Princess Consort Jing.

So, he finds himself hauling Hanxin behind him as they leave camp behind in search of a place to make an offering. A small hill rises above the curve of the lake, dusted with wildflowers just beginning to bud in early spring. It's more of a fire-ant nest rather than a proper slope, but it will suffice.

At the top, he kneels before an outcropping of bare rock and faces west, in the direction of home. The rites are simple but no less significant. He lights three sticks of incense and wedges them upright in the cracks between rocks, their lonely flame a beacon for long-passed spirits. He extends his arms straight ahead, strikes both palms together in a solitary clap, and kowtows, forehead and palms firmly grounded. Once, twice, and finally, with utmost solemnity all the while.

* * *

 **HANXIN**

Hanxin passes the wine to Lu Ten and watches as he pours out a libation for his mother. He says nothing aloud, any words he has for his mother's soul above silently carved upon his heart. Surely, she would be glad to see the heroic young man he is today, full of vigor and compassion.

A nudge at his hand by his side—Lu Ten passes him the wine and looks at him expectantly. He takes it automatically but makes no other move, momentarily stalled until he realizes that Lu Ten means to give him a moment to venerate his own beloved dead.

He never knew his parents—the old minstrel who raised him said he was abandoned at birth, by whom, no one knows. A woman passing through, alone and unwell, lost to the anonymity of poverty—who can reveal the truth? Old Master Song remains in Kanto, the village that raised Hanxin, and two faceless parents are no substitute.

He doesn't think he can explain all this to Lu Ten, who grew up loved and supported by those closest to him. An idea makes itself known to him, but can he really presume to…?

He decides he may as well and kneels beside Lu Ten. The wine has a crisp, tangy aroma that rises up from the ground where the liquid seeps into the bones of the earth.

"Princess Consort." He feels Lu Ten tense at his address, surprised. "I am Hanxin, your son's loyal servant. Your son is exemplary among all those who walk this earth and most beloved of all those he commands. I humbly beg for your blessing that I may continue to serve him to the best of my ability, for however much time is allotted to me."

He doesn't have to look up to know that Lu Ten is blushing intensely at his words, but he cannot speak anything less than the truth.

HHH

"Slight problem," Lu Ten reports as they stop by the lake shore. Hanxin suggested that they polish off the wine while they're away from camp. Lu Ten's hoping to take advantage of the privacy of the lake shore, but one thing has thrown a wrench in his plans. "We have no cups."

Hanxin settles down at the rocky lakeside, on a stone slab shaped like a bench, and looks out across the water. The last rays of sunset leave a trail of gold on its surface, while the perimeter greys and darkens with evening, the opposite shore already shrouded in shadow.

Lu Ten insinuates himself in the space between his knees, serendipitously unaware that there is enough room to sit next to him. He lolls his head back for a pleasant upside-down view and heaves a deep sigh.

"I don't mind sharing," Hanxin offers, amused by his unwarranted aggravation at the cups crisis.

"What would my mother above think of me drinking it straight from the bottle? She taught me better than that."

"Your mother let you drink wine when you were a child?" he purposefully misunderstands.

"No! Oh, you know what I mean. It's not… _appropriate_ for polite company…"

It is time for extreme measures. Hanxin tunes out his pontificating about appropriate company and takes a swig from the bottle, eliciting a scandalized noise which he ignores in favor of leaning down until his mouth is level with Lu Ten's mouth.

"What are you—"

Before he can finish, Hanxin places his lips over Lu Ten's, spilling the rich wine into his mouth. Miraculously, Lu Ten does not spit it all out in surprise, instead swallowing slowly and staring up at Hanxin in wonder.

"Let me remind you that you are not in polite company. You are in the most utterly obscene company right now, on the night of your twentieth birthday, and I don't intend to let you forget."

"Do that again," Lu Ten breathes.

'Again' spills into half the bottle being consumed between the two of them in short order. The liquor is strong and distilled, the sharp alcoholic burn tempered by the tang of pomegranates. At a lull in the impassioned interplay of their lips, Hanxin looks down at the glowing face sprawled in his lap—they haven't really drunk enough for either of them to be out of their senses yet, but he's not complaining about Lu Ten's loosened inhibitions.

"It tastes better when it comes from your mouth."

Hanxin laughs. "What does it taste like?"

"You."

"Very helpful."

Lu Ten wriggles up from his slumped position to rest on his elbows and look more closely at Hanxin, as if this will help him describe what exactly he's tasting. "Like fresh rain and salt spray, and… and… something like that…" he trails off indeterminately.

The wine is masterfully cultivated to the highest of tastes, no doubt, but Hanxin finds he doesn't care for the bouquet as much as he does for the changes it inspires in Lu Ten. He's lovely, so lovely with a gentle flush rising to his cheeks and a pure brightness in his eyes, like the festival he was born on.

"Do you know the origins of Qingming?" Hanxin asks. "Who was the first to celebrate it, and why?"

"Hm." He considers it for a moment. "Not really. I mean, we don't even celebrate it here in camp… perhaps we're just too inured to death. Even back home, though, I don't recall learning about why we do it. But that's life: we're always doing things without knowing why. Like this."

He waves a vague hand at the scenery around them, but Hanxin understands. Why the war, the killing, everything that accompanies this business—there is no rhyme or reason.

"Don't worry," he says. "I know why."

Lu Ten makes an interested noise, so he continues. "Centuries ago, so long ago that it's not even known what kingdom this happened in, there was a prince who was forced into exile by civil war. He had nothing and no one with him except his most loyal minister. For years, they traveled together through many trials. Once, his minister even cut a piece of meat from his own leg to make soup for the prince, because they had no food."

"That's… oddly moving, but also very gross," Lu Ten remarks. He turns his face to the inside of Hanxin's thigh, gives the flesh there a playful nip. "Are you suggesting that you'll cut some of your leg for me to eat if we ever end up in a similar situation?"

Hanxin gently maneuvers him away from his leg and any ideas of cannibalism, letting his hand rest on the back of his head. "No, you fool. If I cut my leg up for you to eat, how could I have the strength to continue to serve you? I would think of a smarter way to get food for us."

He takes another careful sip for Lu Ten, letting the wine trickle exquisitely slowly out of his mouth. Lu Ten's eyes flutter shut as he swallows and then presses forward again into the kiss.

"Well, that's good," he says when they part. "I don't think your leg would be particularly tasty, anyways. Too tough. I can't speak for certain other parts of you, though."

He shifts his eyes pointedly downwards. There is a long, pregnant pause.

…so this is what they mean by liquid courage. Not that Lu Ten has ever shied away from any form of intimacy between the two of them these past few months, but he's rarely quite so forward.

"Hold that thought," Hanxin says, tugging his lover's gaze back upwards by his chin. "The story's not over yet."

"What happened to the prince and his minister?"

"Eventually, the prince reclaimed his throne and became king. For reasons that are unclear, he forgot about his loyal minister, who was so saddened that he went away to live as a hermit in the mountains. When the prince thought of him again, he decided to go find him. But no matter how they searched, he would not come out, so someone suggested that they set fire to the forest to smoke him out. So they did, but his beloved minister ended up burning to death in the fire.

"The prince was so remorseful that he declared a national day of mourning and gave the order that no fire was to be used in cooking. So people would always have to eat cold food on this day. Eventually, the Cold Food festival and Qingming festival traditions became intertwined, so that people would eat cold food and remember the loyal minister, as well as honor their own loved ones who have passed away."

Hanxin arrives at the grim ending rather abruptly, there being no way to soften it, really, and realizes the man at his feet hasn't said a word all the while. He looks down at his beloved Lu Ten to see his face turned away, his back hunched in pain.

"Lu Ten…?"

The back of one hand comes up, shaking, to wipe away secretive tears, and Lu Ten faces him once more, eyes fiercely bright for all that they are raining.

"I will never forget you," he says, voice low and rough. He takes the bottle, drinks and sets it down with more force than necessary, his clumsiness born of raw emotion. Up properly on his knees now so that their faces are almost level, and he slides possessive hands up Hanxin's thighs, his grip almost too harsh to be seductive.

"I will never forget you," he whispers against Hanxin's lips. "That prince was a fool, to cast aside the one who loved him most. I will never, _ever forget you_ — _do you hear me?"_

A bruising kiss, no time nor breath to respond. "You think I don't know how much you love me - more than I could ever suffer to lose." Fingers tangled in his hair, pinning him in place, a willing captive. "I will not forget you, I _cannot,_ it would be like forgetting _who I am_ — _"_

Frantic hands push him onto his back, Lu Ten surging up with him to continue kissing him with abandon in between desperate murmurs.

"Never forget" — "Can't forget" — " _Never"_ — _"You're mine"_ —

Hanxin can only lift his head up to watch as Lu Ten traverses his body with overwhelming passion, before letting it fall again. He realizes, as Lu Ten tugs his trousers down with shaking fingers, that he must be more transparent than he thinks. Of course, he doesn't want to be forgotten, but needs must, and no doubt that melancholy translates in his words and actions, subconsciously. Hence now, hence this, and he shudders out a tense gasp as Lu Ten's mouth closes around the tip of his hard length.

There's more to it, of course, there always is: his guilt at putting his late mother out of his thoughts for so long, his shame at appearing to be an unfilial son to his father, his fear of forgetting what he fights for, his fear of adding to the very short list of people to mourn every time his birthday comes around.

It's becoming more difficult to think. Popular thought claims it's because blood that normally feeds the brain is diverted elsewhere during sexual activity, but it's nothing to do with having sex with Lu Ten (not that that isn't all sorts of superlatives) and everything to do with Lu Ten just being himself. Lu Ten fighting, mourning, leveling battlefields with his fire and Hanxin's heart with his kisses—he's going to have just as hard a time forgetting this man as well.

"Oh, _fuck,_ Lu Ten," he whispers. "You're impossible."

One hand slides beneath his shirt, fingers spreading wide to cover the skin of his abdomen, feeling his breath coming short and staggered.

 _You're a dream come true, a dream forgotten immediately upon waking._

"I'm, I'm almost…" He reaches for Lu Ten's head, tries to warn him off, but the other man catches his hand and grips it tightly, grounding him through the waves of blinding pleasure, a touch to remember for always.

HHH

"I think you've sucked half my soul out of my cock along with everything else." Hanxin is not exaggerating the sentiment; he's barely lucid right now and doesn't foresee much improvement in the next few minutes.

Lu Ten looks unbearably pleased with himself, all the urgency and devastation of earlier drained away through a cathartic blowjob. Perhaps this should be recorded in the annals of medical history. "Then let me give you half of my own in return," he says sweetly. "Just as it should be." He leans forward for a kiss, and Hanxin tastes the bitter-sweaty palate of his own spend mixed with tangy traces of the wine.

Lu Ten pulls away, though one hand remains curled behind his lover's neck, a natural resting place. The other hand finds Hanxin's, the one gripped to nearly breaking point in passion, and cradles it like fragile glass. He inspects it with the solemn focus of one ever so slightly muddled by alcohol.

"I like your fingers."

Slightly-tipsy Lu Ten is a wonderful study in innocent, non-sequitur compliments.

"Thank you. I like yours too," he says gravely.

"I would like them even better inside of me."

He was wrong. Slight-tipsy Lu Ten is a menace.

HHH

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you look with your hair stuck to your forehead like that?" Hanxin whispers roughly.

"Probably, but you could stand to s—ah! Nn…ah—say it again…" Lu Ten struggles to enunciate, and he wonders how Hanxin can remain so calm. It's likely due to the fact that he has two fingers knuckle-deep inside Lu Ten, and not the other way around. "Fuck, oh please, Hanxin, I need you in me like, yesterday," he pleads.

"If you think I'm going to take you here like this on a lake shore, in the open air, you can think again." He traces the curve of Lu Ten's cheek with unbearable care, quite contrary to the ruthless conquest of his other hand. "Firstly, we don't have any proper lubricant, so unless you want to ride a palanquin everywhere for the next few days, which I could arrange but which would also be very embarrassing… we're going to stick with my fingers. Second, you just sucked me off, and I don't think my love for you, infinite as it is, can overcome the physical limits of my interest in you and your gorgeous body. Please accept my sincerest apologies."

"Apology… expec- accepted…" Lu Ten says amid hiccups. "You're so good to me, Hanxin. I don't know if I could ever let you go."

He feels his spirit wither a little at the thought but pushes resolutely past it.

"I don't plan on finding out, though. I plan to stay with you forever."

Hanxin knows better than to take him seriously. When he's teetering on the brink of sobriety, or sleep (or sex), this is when his words are loveliest but least likely to bear fruit.

"Mm, Hanxin, I promise you—"

Oh no, no, no promises. Lu Ten is a man of his word, and Hanxin doesn't intend to be the one to make him break it. He twists his fingers insistently inside of Lu Ten and extends them farther, searching for the way to make his beloved forget any promises of the future. There is only the present, now.

"More, oh Hanxin please—"

"You're going to regret this tomorrow," he warns.

"I could never regret anything you do for me."

He curls one knuckle experimentally, almost invasively, desperate to make his love come apart in pleasure—and there he has it: the moment of no return.

"Hanxin —! _Ah,_ " he moans, completely disinhibited. "I would never… _never…_ oh — _"_

Never is a word long enough to span the years ahead of them, the years beyond the war where they will go their separate ways with nothing but memories to sustain them.

* * *

 **LU TEN**

Hanxin prods him into rinsing off in the lake but refuses to join him ("If I get in too, we'll be out here all night." "I fail to see the problem with that."), contenting himself with skipping stones across the water.

"According to my father, this used to be sort of a resort for rich citizens—you know, take a daytrip out to Lake Laogai, have a picnic and a soak in the lake and a sunburn included in the package."

"Sounds wonderful." Hanxin casts a particularly aerodynamic stone that bounces three times across the water before subsiding into its depths. "Is there anything your father doesn't know?"

"Probably." Lu Ten submerges himself all the way to the neck as he tries to think of something. The water is unseasonably warm; the rivers up north at this time of year last year made bathing a race against time and hypothermia.

There are things, questions to which his father has no answers either. Why do innocent people have to die in war? Is there any justice in the world? There was once a time when he would have sought them out, demanded that his father explain it all to him, but no more.

"Do you remember Jet?" he asks suddenly.

Hanxin stops short of another stone's throw. "Of course I do."

"I wonder where he is now." Lu Ten looks pensively at the water now at chin level, just beneath his mouth. "I wonder if he's found others like him. God knows this war has made enough orphans to populate a whole new nation."

Hanxin sighs. "Are you done yet? You're going to freeze."

"The water's warm," Lu Ten says, but he starts to get up anyways.

"They always find a way, orphans," Hanxin says quietly. "Either they do, or they don't, and they rejoin their parents. Then they're not orphans anymore."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading! Some quick notes are here: archiveofourown dot org/works/7019827/chapters/27316698


	11. Battle of Lake Laogai

If hell exists, surely this is it.

 _Fire rages around him, closer to him than the air in his lungs. All is violent, all is bright, and he chokes on bitter dust and coal flakes. The enemy is closing in, but he still has to muster his reserves to meet them. As long as there is still strength in him, he will not cede the fight._

 _The sound of an armored body hitting the ground behind him gives him pause, and Lu Ten turns, knowing the outcome but dreading the truth all the same._

No. Anyone but him.

 _Reality hits him like a stone to the temple, driving all the strength and will to fight from him in a single breath extracted from his depths._

—

He blinks his eyes open to darkness, and for a moment, he cannot think of what has happened.

 _I was dreaming._

He sits up, slightly disoriented to his position after sleeping for what feels like a week.

 _There was a battle. But I'm here now._

The tent is dim and empty, and he looks around himself, thinking to light a candle or two. But when he reaches to ignite his fire—nothing. There's just… nothing there.

His breathing quickens, and he feels an unpleasant turn in his stomach. He squints at his own hand as if it will reveal the answer to him. Bits and pieces of what happened circulate back to the fore of his mind, and he closes his eyes, trying to organize them in his mind, put a sequence to the chain of events that led to… whatever is going on right now.

—

 _The surface of the lake is calm and unbroken as the morning sun shines down on it, the first hint of spring's warmth bleeding through. Lu Ten takes the time to educate Shang on the nuances of botany, recalling his own lessons in the subject from his childhood._

 _"This one is called mourning blossom." He picks a lovely white bud from its stalk, making sure not to brush the glutinous sap dripping from its broken stem. "The flower itself is harmless, but the stalk must be carefully dried before being presented to anyone."_

 _"Why, because it's poison?" Shang guesses._

 _"Naturally." Now that he thinks about it, it is rather unusual that Aunt Ursa was quite so well-versed in deadly herbs. "Just two drops of fresh sap is enough to kill a grown man." But then again, it's not so surprising. The world is not a kind place, so Lu Ten has his swords and his fire, Hanxin his voice, and Ursa her flowers. To arms, all of them._

 _"That's really powerful." Shang looks contemplative, crouched over the flower in his hand. "Is there an antidote?"_

 _Before he can reply, the very ground beneath them seems to deliver an answer, quaking ominously. Suddenly, the lake is no longer mild and smooth, its waters now turbid and churning at several points along the water's edge._

—

He breathes in unsteadily, trying not to panic, struggling to root himself in fact. He has to compose himself before anyone sees him like this. In the dark, he stands, a little wobbly on his feet, and focuses.

They received next to no warning before the world tilted on its axis. The men had just finished training for the morning and were milling about the lakeshore, attending to the myriad other tasks a camp of several hundred men invariably accumulates. An attack was the last thing on their minds—their instructions had been to anticipate the enemy's arrival in just over a week, not at a moment's notice.

—

 _Everyone watches in foreboding as the turbulent ripples of the water give way to structures rising out of the water, wide fingers of earth lifted from the bed of the lake, not unlike loading docks for fisherman's boats. Twelve in total, they span nearly a quarter mile on the near side of the shore, as far as the eye can see._

 _"Something isn't right." Beside him, Hanxin is thinking in leaps and bounds ahead of the rest of them. "We thought it was unlikely that any earthbenders would be left to muster from the eastern coast." He turns to Lu Ten, urgency in his clenched fists and wild gaze. "They're here. They're here now!"_

 _"Where?" Shang doesn't follow, but it doesn't matter, they just need to follow orders and pray that this will get them out alive—_

 _"Formations!" He lets his voice ring clear and insistent, even as the earthen structures begin to morph into new shapes, and now he understands. They were here all along. Even as the men rush for their weapons and all is organized chaos, the twelve projections, open their tops like teapot lids to issue forth dark green ranks of grim-faced earthbenders._

 _So this is the Dai Li._

—

The eighteenth regiment had stood firm, at first. They had been told to expect one thousand earthbenders. The force before them, all told, could not have numbered more than six hundred. They were nearly evenly matched, in numbers, but not in strategic advantage.

They were caught off guard, and no matter how Lu Ten tried to rally the men, they gradually fell back towards the gently curved slopes beyond the shore. And that was where they truly ran into a trap.

—

 _"We can't keep retreating," Hanxin counsels as they take cover. The non-bending units follow suit, while the firebenders prepare their next round of attack, as drilled, against the earthbenders._

 _"We don't have a choice. They're better prepared than we thought." Lu Ten watches the Dai Li earthbenders evade and return fire with deadly precision._

 _"If that's the case, then why are they driving us farther and farther uphill? They lose their geographic advantage as they move away from the lake, where they could easily retreat to their sanctuary and leave us stranded if need be. We have the higher ground now."_

 _"Doesn't look like it's helping much."_

—

If he could just get some light in here and see his surroundings, he might have some more peace of mind. Lu Ten fumbles his way in the dark over to the box where Hanxin keeps spark rocks and candles, among other supplies, "because I don't ooze fire from every pore like someone I know."

He lights a candle, his traitorous hands still helpless to do anything but hold it aloft, a weak mimicry of his usual strong flame. The light clears his mind a little, though, and he settles his breath with determination. He can see it now, just how it happened.

—

 _All at once, the Dai Li abandon the offense and circle up at a palpable distance, perhaps a hundred yards from the eighteenth regiment, as if regrouping to employ some redevised strategy. In a concerted effort, they move together, in preparation to launch a new attack._

 _The very ground begins to splinter, rifts driving their way into the earth like the cracks on oracle bones, but these ones telling a particularly deadly fortune. Suddenly, the air turns hotter, drier, with a terrible miasma of sulfur and dust, oddly malicious and unbreathable. The earth under their feet seems to implode, gradually sinking down onto itself. The men scatter to avoid its ruin, and as they retreat, Lu Ten directs continual volleys of unrelenting fire towards the Dai Li. Their forces are now concentrated together, so they're easier to knock out this way._

 _What he doesn't reckon with is the fact that as their fire burns hotter, so does the air above them. It turns putrid with ash and dust, like the smokestack on an Empire-class Fire Navy battleship, lit with an indefatigable fire from below…_

 _"That's it." He realizes, just as Hanxin beside him draws the same conclusion._

 _"You said the water was warm."_

 _It was._

 _He should have known it was a trap._

 _"Retreat!" he calls desperately. "Retreat now!"_

 _They move to obey, but even as they begin to retreat further, the ground almost devilishly erupts beneath them, flames crawling out of hell, finally exposed to the open air by the Dai Li's earthbending. They grow stronger with every moment, oxygen fanning their height, seemingly sentient in their quest to chase down every fleeing Fire Nation soldier. There is no thought of fighting back; there is only the urge to fight for their own lives._

 _He breathes with difficulty as ash whips through the air from the coal fire. It clouds his breath, fogs his vision, but through the confusing haze, he can yet see. The Dai Li are still there, segmenting the lakeside with their bending and raising more fire from the bowels of the earth to choke and prostrate them._

 _"What are you doing, Lu Ten? You gave the order, now come on let's go!"_

 _He brushes Hanxin aside, keeping his eyes fixed on the enemy cohort. This is an unknown threat to the Fire Nation, one they had never anticipated. Even if the victory is theirs, he cannot let them escape without determining their nature._

 _"Hanxin, stay back and ensure our safe retreat. I'm going closer."_

 _"What? Are you crazy?!"_

—

In hindsight, he really was.

He remembers unfurling wall after wall of his flame to curb the coal fire's rage around his retreating troops. He remembers releasing lightning like ropes of silver, and scads of dark-green clad figures falling where they stood, falling to the earth that once supported them.

So how is it that he cannot so much as light a candle right now?

Rank upon file of Dai Li around him, collapsing like scarecrows, but also his own men, overcome by the proximity of the fumes. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

By the end, he'd been barely cognizant of his surroundings, everything a swimming mist of fire and coal dust and ash, and himself no more than a conduit for vengeful lightning, charging once and again and again. Everyone else had fallen back, overpowered by the intensity, and there was nothing that stood between him and the enemy.

Then what brought him down?

"Lieutenant Colonel?" A quiet voice from the tent flap summons his thoughts back to the present. It's Shang, his usually bright and joyous demeanor subdued instead.

"Shang?" He strides quickly towards the boy, eager to resolve all the questions swirling through his head. "What's the situation?"

"Ninety-three dead, over a hundred wounded, mostly due to smoke inhalation," Shang answers, with no attempt to soften the blow.

 _Ninety-three._ He'd known they would not escape entirely unscathed, but that's more than he has ever lost in one battle. He lowers himself down to sit, the magnitude of their loss paralyzing him. Shang comes to kneel in front of him, the lone candle between them on the ground.

"What happened? What about…?"

"If you're wondering about my brothers, they're both dead."

He hesitates just a little too long at that, and Shang knows that Piao and Yao were not the names at the tip of his tongue just now.

He presses on coolly. "Hanxin's alive. After those of us who still could had retreated, he went back to try and convince you to give up the fight. About half of the Dai Li had been wiped out by that point, and they didn't look like they wanted to pursue us. You don't remember anything?"

Lu Ten shakes his head, rubs at his temples with the heel of one hand, willing it all to come back, but whatever brought him down must have hit him hard enough to keep that from happening. "There are some moments I recall, but it's like looking through a veil. Nothing makes sense."

"Hanxin was struck down just before he was about to stop you from setting the whole lakeside on fire. He was out before he hit the ground. Then you kind of went berserk." In the scarce light, Shang looks aged, shadows casting lines on his face until Lu Ten could imagine it to be the face of his older brothers, now passed.

"I never knew one person could be capable of that much destruction. I imagine if you'd pulled that off at the inner wall, it would have fallen, and the war would be over within seconds. You were basically a fulcrum of lightning, clearing a path meters wide around you, because no one could stand against that much power."

"Someone must have," Lu Ten says. "How else could I have…" _Lost my bending, temporarily or not?_ He fears the answer to that.

"Well, the Dai Li came prepared. Just before you got knocked out, one of them launched some kind of projectile at you from the shore of the lake. It was a pretty hefty distance, some five hundred feet. I suppose they do a lot of target practice with their earthbending. It was like a cannonball, but when it got into the radius of your lightning, it exploded."

Lu Ten frowns in confusion. "That's it? I just got hit and knocked out by blunt force?"

"It happens to the best of us, and the lesser ones too," Shang says, not meant to be consoling. "But it didn't actually hit you. The pieces fell far short of you, but you just keeled over in the middle of a lightning strike."

He closes his eyes. What Shang has told him must be the truth, but all the same, it bears difficulty reconciling with his current state. Could the projectile have somehow remotely affected his ability to bend? If so, the Earth Kingdom has a weapon that could prove fatal to their efforts to break through the wall.

"Shang, I need to write a letter to Colonel Shinu. And my father. This is really bad news for us, we need support—"

"No need to worry about that. The colonel knows, and he'll definitely have written a thorough report to General Iroh by now."

 _By now…?_ "Shang, how long has it been?"

"Well, we've had time to send a messenger hawk to the colonel, since he's closer than General Iroh, and he was so put out by the news that he sent Kongming over on rhino to personally get an account of the battle. Between Chey, me, and a couple of the other unit leaders, we managed to piece together the details of the encounter and the casualties, and Kongming's taken it back to Shinu as of yesterday. So in total it's been… about four days," Shang summarizes his circuitous report.

"Four days?!" The details of Shinu's disgruntlement can wait, but if it's been four days since the battle, then… "But you said he's…"

"Hanxin is fine, he was up and about three days ago. He's been running himself ragged trying to smooth over normal operations, but he's probably sleeping now, like ordinary human beings do."

The question in his eyes must be evident: _why isn't he sleeping here then?_ "To tell you the truth, I think he's a little angry with you." Shang's voice suggests that he agrees.

A wave of shame rolls through him, realizing how he endangered his men and himself by acting so rashly. And now dozens of them have paid with their lives. "Shang, I'm so sorry."

"Well, better that we lost Piao and Yao, rather than worthier souls, right?" He rises without further comment. "If there's nothing else, Lieutenant Colonel, I'll take my leave. There isn't really anything that needs doing until morning."

He takes the appalled silence as permission to depart. Lu Ten watches the tent flap drop behind him, still standing there alone over a guttering candle.

LLL

He spends the next few days, dawn to dusk, busy with all manner of daily tasks that must be done. The dead have been cremated and their ashes retained or scattered in accordance of the wishes of their next of kin, but the living must still be attended to. Those wounded in the battle have been stabilized, for the most part, but some still lie close to the edge of death. Lu Ten helps where he is needed, though between Yin, Yang, and a handful of other experienced medics, they slowly release breaths of tension and dread at the prospect of still more loss of life.

Though the injured are many, the bereaved still outnumber them: everyone has a brother or a cousin or a comrade in arms lost to the senseless inferno of the battle. He struggles to find the words to comfort them, but many of them are beyond empty condolences and consolation. Time will heal them, or it will not—it remains to be seen.

Throughout all this, he never manages to catch a moment with the one he truly wants to see. It's as if Hanxin is avoiding him. Lu Ten knows he is out and about, fulfilling his duties as he always has, but without even seeing a shadow of the man, it is as if he does not exist.

On the fourth day, they break camp and set out to return to Shinu's base, as per the colonel's orders. They leave at dawn. The going is slow and painful, with so many still wounded. Throughout the long march back, Lu Ten's heart remains heavy for many reasons.

His bending is still nonexistent. In the privacy of his own tent, he tries and tries again but fails to bring even the smallest spark of fire to life. He has tried manipulating existing flame, thinking that perhaps only his ability to generate fire has been harmed, but to no effect. His firebending is gone, as surely as Hanxin's trust in him is also gone.

He should not have charged the Dai Li by himself, without backup, without any plan or hope to prevail. Yet if Hanxin is angry with him, why keep his distance for so long? Why not set matters straight with each other and move past this? He resolves to do so as soon as they reach camp and get settled. Not having him by his side is worse than losing his firebending or indeed any weapon he can wield—it is akin to losing his heart.

LLL

 _Two years, three months_

They arrive at Shinu's camp three days later, and with a depressing sense of déjà vu, Lu Ten goes to report to the colonel. At his tent, he pauses and breathes in and out deeply several times, willing himself to be calm despite whatever may transpire.

Shinu stands with his back to the entrance, looking at the war map on the far wall, as Lu Ten walks in. Kongming stands at his side holding a stack of missives, which he drops as soon as he sees his previous commander.

"Colonel Shinu." He nods at Kongming in brief greeting, but eases his attention back to his commanding officer, who does not respond immediately. He shifts his weight to one foot, uncomfortably removed back to the first day he reported to the colonel, over two years ago now.

Two years of his life gone to this war, and before long, it will be three, and four, and still more.

 _When will it end?_

"Do you remember what I told you about the value of life, before you set out on your tour of the northwest territories?"

So Shinu is thinking back to that moment as well. _How could I forget?_

"War is commerce. Protect your assets and destroy those of others," Lu Ten reiterates mechanically.

"Strange, that now you remember my words so well, yet on the battlefield, you dispense with them entirely." Shinu turns towards him, and his grizzled face is grim and severe. "From the piecemeal report Kongming delivered to me of your mission, it seems that you did not fully understand them to begin with."

The truth is that he understands them well enough, but merely refuses to comply with them.

Kongming hands Shinu said report, and the colonel scans through it—a pretense only, he's read it more than once already—then rolls it up and tosses it aside.

"You encountered an unexpected enemy—you stood your ground and fought, very well." Shinu paces the few steps that separate him and Lu Ten, pausing just beside him without facing him.

"You encountered an unexpected obstacle, a huge coal fire that tore the very ground out from under your feet and cost the lives of dozens of men—you reevaluated your circumstances, very well." He turns back around and begins to pace away, every step measured and nerve-wracking.

"You recognized that the battle was lost—you sounded the call to retreat, very well. And yet, you refused to leave the fray, focusing exclusively on bringing down the remainder of the enemy forces, at the expense of guiding your men to safety. You let emotion and the desire for revenge cloud your judgment and put your entire battalion at risk of losing their commander."

"Sir, I had to—these earthbenders were of the likes we've never seen in battle before, and they had a weapon that—" He breaks off unexpectedly. Shinu doesn't know that he's lost his firebending, does he? And if Lu Ten tells him, he would definitely strip him of his post. How could any self-respecting officer inspire confidence in his subordinates without firebending?

Kongming looks at him worriedly. Could he possibly suspect what Lu Ten's most concerned about? This news cannot become widespread.

"No matter what, eliminating them when you had already suffered such heavy losses was not worth the risk," Shinu resumes, as if he had not spoken. "Remember the relative value of life. Without those you command, you are nothing."

He feels even more uneasy now, realizing that being unable to bend puts his men in even more danger on the battlefield.

"I am thinking that you need to step back from the battlefield for a time, perhaps indefinitely," Shinu says ominously. "Maintaining a distance from the battle itself will give you clarity."

"Sir?" Even though he has just been thinking along similar lines, Lu Ten can barely believe his ears. "I… but, I can't abandon my men. I've failed them once. I can't let them fend for themselves because of a mistake I made. Sir, _please_."

"Fend for themselves?" Shinu snorts. "No, you are still their commander. As a lieutenant colonel, it would not be unusual to serve from the war tent rather than in the ranks. Removed from the heat of battle, you will be able to command them with better foresight."

Stunned into silence, Lu Ten processes his words dumbly. What Shinu is saying is not unreasonable, but his reflex reaction is to oppose it, to do anything he can to continue fighting alongside his men, who have already lost so many of their brethren.

"As for who will guide them on the field… that should be an obvious choice. You've always spoken highly of your second-in-command, the musically inclined one, have you not? Let him take your place."

 _Hanxin?_

 _Not as long as I live._

Kongming seems to take his cue at this. "Sir, that would not be advisable. You may not recall, but Hanxin is not a firebender and as such would be unfit to lead."

"Then have one of the firebending unit leaders serve jointly with him. Either way, Lieutenant Colonel, you are out of the game for now."

Lu Ten sucks in a deep breath and blows it out through his nose, long and paced, preparing for his next words. This is not a game, and what the colonel is suggesting is a hard no. He will not back down from this. "Very well, then. I will leave the battlefield." He allows Shinu a brief look of satisfaction before continuing. "But so will all of my men."

Shinu stares him down levelly. "What are you saying?"

"I will not let them fight for me. If you will not allow me to return to the battlefield, none of us will." He arms his words with steel and iron like his swords, now that fire is lost to him. "They are still mine to command, as you have just reminded me."

"You…" Shinu is speechless. "You cannot…"

Kongming looks, unnerved, from his uncle to Lu Ten and back, equally shocked. Lu Ten laughs, a brief, sharp, mirthless sound. "I can, and I will. You cannot say that I am disobeying you, technically speaking." He bows, a quick dip that is more a dismissal than a formality. "I remain your loyal subordinate, sir."

He turns and leaves before Shinu gets to have the last word. It is not the best case scenario, but neither is it the worst.

 **KONGMING**

"Sir, do you think he really means to do it?"

"You tell me what you think," Shinu says. "You've served under the man for two years. What would he do in this situation?"

"I think…" Kongming begins. "He probably will refuse to go into battle, as you've said. But he won't let any of the rest of them go either. He's not one to let others sacrifice themselves for him."

"Mm." Shinu seems to agree with this. "But how long will he keep that up? Can he maintain that attitude forever?"

Kongming considers this, but the colonel answers for him. "What I know of this cheeky young lieutenant colonel, I know from a distance, but perhaps that is what gives me the best insight into his foolishness. What he wants, above all, is to be a savior—to hold the keys to life and death, and open the door for his poor subordinates to live another miserable day. He wants to be what stands between them and the gates of hell."

"So… you think that he won't be able to stay away from the war for long?"

"I know it." Shinu laughs, his dark tone ringing oppressively in the confined space. "This is exactly what we want. The war effort will flag without his support, and he knows it. He'll try to resist, but by and by, the news will trickle in. Two units slaughtered at the eastern apex of the wall. Another battalion in pieces as the Earth Kingdom overpowers its firebenders and leaves the survivors to crawl home. An entire regiment waylaid by a trap set by earthbenders on their way to the northeast corner to support General Iroh. He'll throw off his brooding cap and charge to the rescue before long, without forethought, without planning, and not even that minstrel of an adjutant will be able to save him." Shinu frowns at his nephew suddenly. "What do you know about that man in particular?"

"Hanxin?" The name is startled out of Kongming's mouth before he knows it. "He… he's unfalteringly loyal to Lu Ten. There's no way you could get him to betray his master."

"I thought as much." Shinu taps his fingers restlessly on the edge of his desk, lost in thought. "Kongming, write me a letter to General Iroh. Express my concern for his son and respectfully ask him to try and sway Lu Ten into some semblance of cooperation. I need to appear impeccable in case the lieutenant colonel goes crying his suit to his father."

Kongming automatically moves to start the correspondence, but pauses. "But sir, what if Iroh actually does convince him to cooperate? If he remains peacefully on the sidelines while allowing Hanxin to lead the regiment, we'll have a harder time eliminating him that way."

Shinu crosses the floor to the map behind him, and Kongming follows his gaze. It strikes him that the map is labelled with small crosses, and Shinu has his finger on the location where Lu Ten so nearly met his end just last week. In fact, he quickly scans the rest of the map and concludes that the crosses are not markers of Shinu's battles, but rather of Lu Ten's. Red for victories, black for defeats; from the skirmishes in the northwest to the battles at the wall, Kongming was there for most of them, so he knows what to look for.

And so does Shinu, it seems.

"You don't know this, but Lu Ten and his father are drawing apart, ever so slowly. On the surface, all is well. General Iroh is jovial and doting towards the glory of his latter years. Deep down, though, the son hates this war the way his father never has."

Shinu approaches the desk again and with one finger withdraws a glob of black paint from a pot typically used to stamp his official seal. He carries it back to the map on the wall and carefully dabs a stark cross over the site of Lu Ten's recent defeat.

"He loves his father, but he reviles the fact that the old man has enabled our continued presence at Ba Sing Se for as long as he has, at the cost of thousands of lives. No, not even his father can sway him from his idiocy. Perhaps that is the curse of every generation—sons no longer abide by filial teachings. Even if he does manage to corral his son into obedience, it is no matter. Iroh's pressure point is his son. Lu Ten's pressure point is his second-in-command. Strike at him, and the Azure Dragon will fly into a blind, fatal rage, and then our job is half done."

A chill crosses his spine, and Kongming clenches his brush tighter, hoping Shinu is too enamored of his own venomous monologue to notice. He grits his teeth and focuses on writing a plausible letter to General Iroh. Shinu is not his father, but if he were… Kongming doubts he would put much stock in filial piety either.

 **HANXIN**

He has been dodging this moment for almost a week now, but to no avail. The morning after they arrive back at Shinu's base camp, Lu Ten assembles the regiment and makes known his intentions to withdraw from battle indefinitely. The men murmur, restless, among the ranks, unable to believe that this is truly their commander's decision. Perhaps it is an order from higher up, unfairly censuring the lieutenant colonel for his grave defeat at Lake Laogai.

As they disband, he hears his name called. The voice that he most cherishes has never been more unwelcome to his ears, if only because now comes the moment where he must say and do the cruelest things imaginable to ensure they both survive this war.

He follows Lu Ten back and stops just inside the entrance of his tent, unwilling to insinuate himself further into that space for fear of not being able to tear himself away. They stand there without speaking for the time it takes for silence to congeal into strangerly detachment. Finally, Lu Ten speaks first, cutting straight to the chase.

"You've been avoiding me. Why?"

Hanxin feels his throat tighten against his will and quashes down a wave of guilt. He owes Lu Ten an explanation.

"I have become your weakness, Lieutenant Colonel, sir, when it was not my intention to do so," he says, the syllables of Lu Ten's title stiff and strange on his tongue. "I am sorry that I caused you to come to harm in the battle at Lake Laogai. Rest assured that with the proper distance and time, I will be able to serve you as a loyal subordinate should, without emotional entanglement."

Lu Ten gapes at him, dumbfounded, entirely unable to comprehend the stone-cold words he has just uttered. "You… what are you saying? Hanxin, you may be a weakness with me, but you are also my strength. I love both sides of you, and I choose both." He steps forward, intending to take Hanxin's hands in his and impress his sincerity into them, but Hanxin forces himself to step away even as he draws closer. "Why are you running away?"

 _Not because I want to, but the circumstances call for it._ "Sir, the reason you nearly met your end in the battle was because I fell first, and you lost all control over your own judgment. The earthbenders were able to take advantage of that to incapacitate you."

Lu Ten takes to clasping his own hands together in agitation, mouth twisting in pain at the memory. In a sense, it's a relief that he has already chosen to step back from the war field, otherwise who knows what recklessness Hanxin's pronouncement might induce? He knows he must strike deeper, to widen the chasm between them and bolster that gap.

"Had it been anyone but me, would you have so utterly lost your reason? Dozens of our men had already succumbed at that point, yet you remained steadfast. Your strength comes from within, but so does your weakness. Uproot me from your heart, and you will no longer have any reason to fear."

"No…" Lu Ten utters, quietly, as if talking to himself. "No, you… that doesn't make any sense. I can't just excise you from my heart. You're _part of me now,_ don't you know?" His voice is low and urgent with conviction that Hanxin shares, but he must deny it to the bitter end. "Am I… am I nothing to you, then?"

 _On the contrary, you are everything, which is why I must do this._

He closes his eyes in brief escape from the moment, because Lu Ten's expression says so starkly that this is wrong, _this is wrong—_ the way his jaw is clenched and painfully set, the muscles there stretched so taut over bone like overly tight strings on a liuqin; his eyes threatening to cloud over, and his face drained of all color, and his knees giving way because Hanxin has been there to support him all this time and now…

"Our paths must diverge, both now and after the war. The sooner, the better—it will make things easier in the long run."

He leaves Lu Ten as he is and walks out, feeling hardly steadier on his feet than the one he has left behind.

If his beloved is like a liuqin, then what he has just done is akin to preemptively snapping its strings because they might one day wear themselves out from being played too much.

 _Two years, four months_

 **LU TEN**

The weeks roll by, glacial in the rising and setting of each day's sun yet all the same, completely out of his control in their rapidity. Without the constant busyness of attending to war matters, Lu Ten finds himself losing entire hours at a time in a sunken maze of inactivity. Many days he passes out of sight, walking without end along the outer wall of Ba Sing Se, returning to camp only under the cover of the witching hour, and sometimes not at all. Today is the first day of the fifth month, normally ideal timing for war-making. The air is warming up, men's spirits are high, the days are lengthening, but he spends it sitting with his back to the parapet of a watchtower on top of the wall, two miles out from the 18thregiment's camp. Before him rests a clay teapot, accompanied by a singular cup full of tea that's long since gone cold under his unmoving stare. At his back stretches the desolation of Ba Sing Se's agrarian zone, overrun by a war that has led nowhere in the past three years.

At his right hand stands Shang, who's probably been looking for him for a while now, judging from his shortness of breath as he addresses Lu Ten.

"What are you doing here? The sentries saw you headed in this direction hours ago, but I thought you were going to… I don't know, do something like pray to the ancestral spirits, not sit here staring into space."

Lu Ten smiles emptily, wondering how the ancestors could help him at this point. Great-grandfather Sozin certainly would be less than pleased with him. He looks at the cold tea beside him, tea that he cannot even reheat with his own fire now.

Not even his own father can help him, sadly. After the battle, he wrote to General Iroh explaining the situation with his firebending and the perils posed by the Dai Li's secret weapon, but all he had gotten in the way of his response was an impartial missive: _Duly noted. Will look into intelligence reports from recent scouting missions to determine nature of weapon and formulate response. Seek healers' input on firebending therapy._

General Iroh has many things on his mind besides his failure of a son and whether he can get his firebending back. This situation is not imperative and hardly merits his attention at this juncture.

"My father put a lot of effort into breaking through the outer wall, Shang. After he did, all Earth Kingdom forces withdrew from the entire periphery to the garrisons of the inner wall, enabling me to spend a peaceful afternoon exactly where we are now," he says without inflection. "I would hate to let his hard work go to waste by not enjoying this wall."

Shang has no experience with his grim sarcasm; Hanxin was usually the one to bring it out and deflect its wrath. "Sir, are you serious about not sending us out anymore? Are we to just languish, idle and unused as the war wears on?"

Lu Ten tosses out his cup of tea and pours himself another one that he will not drink. "Not as long as Shinu remains obstinate about not letting me go. He thinks he can control me." It's far easier to blame the colonel than admit that he himself is no longer war-worthy.

"He can't, though. It doesn't matter what he says. They need you, at the front. General Iroh needs you. How will our forces ever break through the wall if the earthbenders just keep pushing us back?" Shang says passionately, sitting across from Lu Ten to look him straight in the eyes. "You're the Azure Dragon. Why are you holding yourself back?"

Privately, he thinks that his father sounds just fine without him. "Are you suggesting I disobey direct orders from Shinu?"

"Sir, you know as well as I do that those orders are a vat of rhino dung. The colonel just wants to put a stopper on your success. He's afraid that you'll surpass him, so he's kicking you while you're down from the battle at the lake and trying to prevent you from making a comeback. If you prove him wrong by leading us to victory once more, who cares what orders were or weren't given?"

In happier times, Lu Ten might have smiled at Shang's colorful language, so unfettered without his brothers around to mind him. The thought of Piao and Yao, gone forever now, sobers him immediately.

"You assume wrongly that I am still capable of leading you all to victory. How can I, when I have lost your hearts?"

"Sir, Hanxin still—"

"Do not talk to me about him," Lu Ten cuts across him shortly. "I was speaking of _your_ heart."

"My heart?" Shang looks perplexed.

"Yours, and those of everyone who lost a brother in the battle." He pours out his tea onto the unwelcoming stone tiles again, this time in remembrance of those who gave their lives. "You have nothing to hide from me, Shang. Those whom you love are now passed, courtesy of my incompetence, and you have a right to be angry and disillusioned with me. All I can do is prevent you from joining them immediately."

Shang is quiet for a long moment, then speaks. "You're right—I did lose faith in you after the battle of Lake Laogai. You kept us safe for all this time, I thought you were infallible."

 _At least,_ he thinks, _the loss of his innocence is not accompanied by the loss of his honesty._

Shang takes the cup from him, the cup from which he still has tasted nothing, and pours some tea for himself. "I thought you really embodied the title of dragon. But you're human after all, and that's not your fault."

He sees now that Shang has had time to overcome the irrationality of grief, and Lu Ten marvels—perhaps that is too joyous of a word, say then, _laments—_ at the onset of his maturity. The years have taught him the serenity to accept the things he cannot change, the courage to change the things he can, and the wisdom to tell the difference.

No. This last quality, he still lacks—otherwise, he would not waste his time trying to convince Lu Ten to return to a war he is no longer fit to fight in.

Shang drinks without ceremony, quietly pouring another cup that he pushes to rest equidistant between the two of them, a question and a peace offering in one. Lu Ten ignores it.

"Lu Ten. Please come back, please."

He hears the distant echo of a boy, younger than the one before him now, begging him just as fervently not to abandon him. But now, just as back then, he cannot lend an ear to their pleas.

LLL

It occurs to him that Zuko doesn't even know what's happened with him. He doesn't remember whose turn it is to write to the other, if Zuko is waiting on a letter from him or if he should be expecting one from his cousin any day now. The events of late have driven all thoughts of home out of his mind.

He doesn't think he could tell his little cousin about all this anyways. The pain that consumes him, of losing his purpose as a firebender, as a commander of men, as a lover of one so dear to him that he could not even conceive of rejection until now… these are things he cannot share with Zuko, whose heart is still unladen with these burdens. Besides, there is nothing he can do to help, so why trouble him so?

All the same, he finds himself spreading out a new sheet and dipping his ink to write, not knowing what words will be laid down before him and whether spilling his heart onto paper will heal or only serve to open old wounds.

 _Dear Zuko,_

 _I'm sorry I haven't written in a while. I haven't been feeling like myself lately. It's funny: for a while, I thought everything was going so well. We were winning battles, making a name for ourselves, and then everything went so horrifically wrong. Our regiment suffered a huge defeat recently, and I don't think I've recovered my confidence. I've retreated from combat as ordered by Colonel Shinu, and the rest of the regiment too._

 _Before I left, you were so afraid that I would die in the war. It's ironic, because without going into battle, I certainly won't. So why do I feel worse than ever? The Fire Nation needs me, to lead, to fight, to kill, to carve a path through the enemy lines and defeat the Earth Kingdom. Our soldiers are dying in swathes at the wall, and yet here I am, helpless to aid them._

 _My men are losing their trust in me. By foregoing my better judgment during the battle, I imperiled their lives. How could they continue to believe in me? Even Hanxin—you remember him—has distanced himself, sensing that I'm losing my touch, that I'm no longer a worthy commander, and I can't blame him._

 _On top of that, I've lost my firebending. I don't know how, but something that happened to me in the last battle must have triggered it. I feel so helpless. Just knowing that I can't rely on it terrifies me, the thought that I have nothing to fall back on if worst comes to worst._

 _These things I've written, though, I'll never send. You've always loved bending so much; I know, because I encouraged it, and now what do I have to show? Nothing. I'm as good as dead to you, Zuko, without my bending. I don't think I realized until now how much I miss you, the way you think I'm the best brother anyone could ever have, when really all I am is_

 **HANXIN**

Enough is enough. He has been avoiding this, but since everyone before him has failed, it is once again his job to talk sense into Lu Ten. If he's being honest with himself, it's always been his lot, by virtue of being closest to the man. Their bond is severed now, and he tells himself that it's for the best, but all the same, Lu Ten cannot continue like this. Idling like this without going into battle will destroy his morale, the company's morale, and everything he's worked for as the Azure Dragon, as the best and brightest of this generation to serve in the war.

He steels himself to enter the place where he was once welcome, expected, needed, but no more. Stepping over the threshold, he abruptly stops short at the sight of Lu Ten sprawled over his writing desk, brush still clutched in one hand as he rests his head on folded arms. It seems he fell asleep while penning a document.

Hanxin smiles against his will, remembering all too many nights when Lu Ten would do exactly this: nod off over important work, not caring what gibberish ink smears would be daubed all over his face, nor how his neck and back would be nearly immobile with stiffness upon waking. He's never been one to do things by halves. Hanxin approaches quietly, tugging the brush from Lu Ten's grasp and covering the inkwell so that it won't spill everywhere. He chances a look at what lies written on the desk, and what he reads there breaks his heart.

He knew the battle and its consequences have hurt Lu Ten, but he hadn't reckoned with how much.

There is much work to be done, but looking down at his beloved like this, a physical ache worms its way into his heart, making it so difficult to move and to even look away. The longing overcomes him, and without pausing to second-guess himself, he reaches down to rest the backs of his fingers against Lu Ten's cheek, a gentle contact that does not disturb his dreams.

The letter to Zuko has told him things that require immediate action, things he would have known and could have helped with if he hadn't just turned his back on the one who needs him the most. His grief may be irreparable at this point, but Hanxin resolves that he will do what he can to make this right.

For both their sakes.

 **A/N:** There are some notes here if the battley stuff was confusing (it was confusing for me to write, to say the least), and stuff about the Dai Li, etc.

Archiveofourown dot org /works/7019827/chapters/29976723


	12. Battle of Jingxing

_2 years, 5 months_

 **LU TEN**

Tonight he's drinking plain water, not even wanting to expend the effort to boil water for tea with spark rocks. Every time he has to light a fire without bending is a reminder of everything else he has been forsaken by. He frowns into his tea cup, its depths no longer lined with the leaves that some fancy can tell one's fortune. All the better; if he were to read his leaves now, they would spell nothing but misery and loss.

A shadow falls across the entryway. Lu Ten looks up and puts the cup down as he registers the figure standing before him, one that has long had no reason to be here. He stands abruptly, tense with an anger he didn't think he was still capable of feeling. "What do you want?"

Hanxin raises an eyebrow, as irreverent as ever. Lu Ten has never spoken to him like that before. "Do you think just maybe, I have something to give you instead of something to ask of you?"

 _My heart back, perhaps?_ He seethes at Hanxin's nonchalance. Has their separation not affected him at all?

Hanxin walks over, gait calm and measured, to the corner where his dual swords lie discarded, not having had any cause to be used for the past several weeks. "It occurred to me that I need to give your swords a sharpening," he says, unsheathing them and running one finger along their blunt edge, as if this a perfectly natural thing to do after a month of not speaking to each other. "You'll be wanting them nice and deadly soon."

"Might I remind you that I'm banned from entering battle indefinitely, probably one of Shinu's more astute orders."

"Qizheng said: there are roads which must not be followed, armies which must not be attacked, towns which must not be besieged, positions which must not be contested, and commands of the sovereign which must not be obeyed," Hanxin recites dutifully. He flicks the flat of one of the blades with one finger, giving off a clarion ring. "He will win who has military capacity and is not interfered with by the sovereign. Wouldn't you agree?"

"That's not the main reason I'm refraining from the field," Lu Ten protests. "An inconsistent commander can't fail to lose his men's confidence, just as I have."

"You haven't lost mine."

Lu Ten shakes his head sadly. "That might be more convincing if not for what you said to me the last time we spoke." _When you broke up with me,_ he paraphrases sordidly. "You were right, you always are. I let myself get too emotionally involved. I lost my judgment out of love for my men, I lost my root out of love for you. And then I lost the battle and my firebending to boot." No surprise registers on Hanxin's face, and of course, of course he somehow already knew. It's not even a question, just another reason to revile his commanding officer, lieutenant colonel in name only.

"I am not a worthy commander if I cannot even keep ahold of such basic principles. It is no wonder that you no longer answer to me; how could you?" He pauses to consider if perhaps this is the source of his loss of firebending. With his mind in such a knot, there would naturally be physical repercussions for his abilities.

Hanxin breathes in deeply, the dual swords clasped together in one hand. One far-flung corner in the back of Lu Ten's thoughts reminds him that Hanxin, while not the most proficient master of the art, has always favored _jian_ as opposed to _dao._ A straightforward man, one blade and one purpose, without the duplicity and wily back-and-forth of dual swords.

The fore of his mind is occupied with the fact that now, one _dao_ sweeps across the space between them to rest under his chin, forcing him to lift his eyes from the ground and meet Hanxin's, cold with quiet fury.

"Now you're listening," he says softly. "Good, because I am only going to say this once. I was wrong about you."

Lu Ten opens his mouth to speak, the motion causing the swell of his throat to press harder against his own blade, superficially cutting into his skin. The slight sting of pain and tiny trickle of blood keep him focused on Hanxin's next words.

"I thought that my love was all you needed to stand strong. But it's clear that you need someone else's love to be your strength."

His pause seems to indicate space for a question, which Lu Ten duly supplies. "Who?"

"You."

.

.

.

"You should know," Hanxin whispers, and in his voice resides none of the self-possessed calm that he usually exudes. It's something more profound, begging Lu Ten to see the depth of a mountain lake before skipping a stone across its still surface.

"There are people who are looking out for you, who would give themselves up, body and soul for you, and I don't just mean myself. We can protect you from those who would harm your life and your reputation. But we can't protect you from yourself."

He looks into Hanxin's eyes and sees his pain amplified back at him. "I don't need protecting from myself," he says numbly, hearing himself as if from far away.

"Stop lying," Hanxin snaps, and his sharp words bring Lu Ten clarity again, more so than the keen blade at his throat. "Who is the one most capable of bringing you down? It's certainly not the Earth Kingdom, even if they've taken your bending. You've won dozens of battles before without firebending. It's not anyone on our side. You have the support of your men, over four hundred of us. They still believe in you, even if you don't believe in yourself. Nothing can touch you except your own self-loathing."

Under the flicker of the one solitary candle Lu Ten could summon the energy to light, he can see his reflection in the blade between them. It is an imperfect mirror, muddled and blurry.

"Please, my lord."

Hanxin drops the sword at his throat and, with utter solemnity, initiates the formal bow that he's never used before, left hand over right fist. To Lu Ten's shock, he sinks to the ground in complete obeisance. "I cannot love someone who does not love and have faith in my lord, and that includes yourself."

 _You've always seen me more clearly than I have._

Lu Ten lowers himself to kneel before Hanxin. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," he says quietly to the back of his bowed head. "Perhaps nothing at all. But I have always trusted you, so maybe there's something to this 'loving yourself' thing that you're proposing after all."

No reaction from Hanxin, not even a faint hint of a chuckle at his lame attempt of a joke, and that tells him so much that he needed to know but ignored all this time. How much Hanxin has been hurting at their separation as well, how desperately he needs Lu Ten to return as the Dragon of the East, as his most beloved one, as _himself_ , not this shell of himself that he has become.

"I promise you that I will do as you say. I will resume the battlefield without fear, and I will attempt to love myself as I love you, for both our sakes. But I cannot do this alone, Hanxin."

A plea in a single, naked statement, the inextinguishable truth of their bond. He returns the bow, forehead to the ground paralleling Hanxin, and they stay there together for an indescribable moment of reconciliation.

At length, Hanxin rises. "Lu Ten," he begins helplessly, hands clenched on his thighs as if restraining themselves from the long-abandoned habit of touching.

Lu Ten smiles, opens his arms wordlessly, and Hanxin, almost childlike in his eagerness, scrambles forward on his knees to embrace his lover. Even in the later days of their relationship, they could hardly bear to be apart for most of a day, much less a month at a time. Lu Ten has forgotten how revitalizing this could be, just holding him close and not letting him go. He runs a comforting hand over Hanxin's back, rubbing soothing circles to dispel the loneliness of their separation. Honestly, the things they do to themselves—but no longer.

* * *

 **HANXIN**

Though the hour is late, they have work to do. Hanxin musters a few of those in his inner circle: Shang, Zhangwei, Chey, Tu, Ao, Yin, Yang, and Wok; thus, Lu Ten proceeds to learn why exactly his swords need sharpening.

"Six miles to the north lie the Taihang Mountains, and beyond them rampages the army of General Chen Yu, two thousand strong on ostrich-horseback." Shang points out their respective positions on the war map spread out on the floor. He was the first scout to return with the news of Chen Yu's movements. "He has just emerged victorious from a battle against the 94th regiment, which has nearly been decimated, and now plans to ride against us on the tail of his adrenaline high."

Lu Ten squashes down a snort and glances over at Hanxin. Shang's phrasing leaves much to be desired. Hanxin smiles in return and gestures to Tu and Ao, who among their company have always been the most farsighted, to take over.

"He is about a day's ride away from the foothills of Taihang, but where his path then leads is debatable," Tu says.

Ao continues. "He may take the Jingxing pass, which would bring him straight to our doorstep, or he may ride another day out to the west to skirt the range entirely."

"The Jingxing pass is narrow, only wide enough for two across on horseback. It will still take them the better part of a day to cross," Zhangwei argues. "Plus, mountain gorges like that are a risky bet. I don't think Chen Yu will go that way."

"Someone please remind me why he sounds familiar," Lu Ten says. It speaks to how many battles they have had over the course of two years, that he does not remember where he may have met this Chen Yu before.

"Sir, General Chen Yu was present at the Battle of Iron Hills, where you routed a large battalion of Earth Kingdom recruits that he was training for the defense at the wall. You had originally sent an offer of peace, in which you promised to pass over the battalion if he would send half of the soldiers home. He rejected the offer, after which you decisively defeated him despite suffering heavy injuries," Wok summarizes, a little unnecessarily as the details come back to Lu Ten rapidly.

"Ah, so this is a personal vendetta," he muses. "Good. I like it when the heart is involved. It makes death seem more worthwhile."

Everyone looks around nervously at his macabre words, but Hanxin knows better. This is not a new side of his commanding officer, not new to him, anyways. When he's devising war strategies, Lu Ten is utterly focused and spares no feelings, just as he needs to be. In a roundabout fashion, Chen Yu's bloodlust does make his imminent erasure more palatable.

"If we can entice him into thinking that the pass is the superior route, we can ambush him and have a chance at winning. Chey, what do you think?"

Chey is a nervous man, eyes darting wildly all around the room to settle back on Lu Ten. "Sir, if I may, I believe I have an idea."

"Speak."

"Storm clouds are gathering, and I can feel a deluge coming. Oftentimes these summer storms move quickly, without raining, but I have a hunch that this one will drop its load right over the mountains. The conditions are just right."

"So it's going to rain—big deal, we've fought in rain before, and so have they," Zhangwei says impatiently. "It won't affect our chances either way.

Lu Ten holds up a hand to censure him. "Continue, Chey."

"Sir, if the rain falls suddenly, the canyon may flood in a matter of minutes. I have seen it happen back home, in the ranges surrounding Yu Dao. A flash flood could sweep away Chen Yu's entire force easily, if they are in the canyon when the water rises."

"The success of this ploy depends on whether we can ensure Chen Yu takes the pass. What if the storm clouds make him think twice?"

"He is from the inland plains above the Yuanfen Sea, I've heard," Shang supplies eagerly. "They don't have many floods over there, so he's unlikely to be familiar with this kind of terrain."

"There is a way to make him think he's taking the right path for sure, to cement his confidence. It just takes a little impersonating Mother Nature," Hanxin says, waiting for Lu Ten to catch up.

It clicks. "If he sees lightning, he'll think at first that it's a harbinger of rain."

"But the Dragon of the East is known for his lightning bending, and Chen Yu will begin to second guess himself. Is it natural or manmade? If he hears thunder, he will think…"

"That we're stampeding our rhinos to make it sound like thunder," Lu Ten carries on. "We would not be the first Fire Nation unit to use such a strategy, especially in confined spaces."

"Precisely. And so, he will suspect that we are trying to deflect him from the pass by mimicking an imminent storm, when in fact there is no danger. Thus, we would theoretically have time to flee like cowards while he takes the long way around."

"Except that there will be no fleeing," Lu Ten vows. He points on the map with one sword. "I will lead the main forces to gather here, at the exit to the pass, to block their escape. Hanxin, you lead the contingent on rhinos to a location you think is appropriate for Chen Yu to see and hear the false signals."

Hanxin nods, glad to see that he and Lu Ten are on the same page. "Here," he indicates with his own sword. "This path is accessible only from our side of the mountains, and it broadens into a wide ledge much higher up. Chen Yu should not be able to see our subterfuge from his location on the canyon floor."

"Good."

"But sir, shouldn't your places be switched?" Shang wonders. "Since you will need to generate the lightning to lead Chen Yu on."

Hanxin feels his throat tighten at that, but Lu Ten gives no indication that the loss of his bending will affect their plans. "I would like to at least give Chen Yu the honor of looking him in the eyes when he dies. I will remain with the main force. Chey can accompany Hanxin instead."

Chey looks rather alarmed at being called out thus. "Uh…"

"You have a little lightning bending, do you not?" Lu Ten knows this, of course; ever since merging with multiple firebending units, they have made careful catalogs of every unit's abilities to better utilize them.

"Yes, but… it's just that, a little. Nothing that can be compared with your magnificent skill, Lieutenant Colonel sir." He bows slightly in abasement.

"All the better," Lu Ten decides. "We need lightning that looks rather less than the real thing, to make Chen Yu believe that he has seen through our ploy. Have faith in yourself, Chey. We will be relying on you."

"…yes, sir." Chey looks sufficiently bolstered at this vote of confidence.

* * *

 **LU TEN**

They briefly go over the rest of the strategy, squaring away details on timing, positions, and communications, until Lu Ten feels satisfied that they have a working plan. Hanxin and most of the group depart to organize logistics, and he sheathes his swords, knowing that they will see blood before the day is through.

"Sir?"

"What is it, Shang?" he says without turning around. He wonders how much of the mend between himself and Hanxin is noticeable from the outside, but Shang's always been an outlier in that regard; what he sees may be far more than what others see.

"I'm glad you're back," Shang says honestly.

"I am too." And truly, he is. He has missed this: the way he and Hanxin bounce ideas for strategies off each other, lightning-quick; the way his men snap to their orders without question because they know he will look out for them; the way his body feels tight as a bowstring before the battle, knowing that they will prevail and yet not being sure. It is a strange thing to feel nostalgic for, but so it is.

LLL

The sun does not rise that morning. The sky is covered in thick, opaque clouds, obscuring any view of the sun's rays. Around three hours after dawn would have occurred, a blue firecracker goes up over the Taihang Mountains. It is Ao's report from his vantage point in their scouting post high up in the mountains: the rainfall promised by Chey has begun, just where he predicted it would be, some thirty miles northeast of the pass. It will not be apparent to Chen Yu from his position on the ground, but the flood has already begun and is making its way towards them.

The contingent led by Hanxin and Chey has long since set out for the mountains, and he will trust Hanxin's judgment as to when to implement the signals of deception to lead Chen Yu astray. The rest of them assemble at the foot of the mountain and await catastrophe.

A flash of lightning illuminates the rainless sky, and he must admit, Chey was right—it's nothing impressive. The thunder that follows a few moments later sounds rather more realistic, the canyon walls echoing with a cacophonic rumble that fades into silence not long thereafter.

A pause, and he knows that even now, Chen Yu is debating whether to enter the pass or not. On cue, another flash of lightning and thunder resound throughout the canyon. It takes perhaps ten minutes of intermittent signals before Lu Ten sees a flash of green sparks go up from Ao's watchpost. Chen Yu has entered the Jingxing pass.

"Two thousand to four hundred," Shang murmurs at his side as they wait at the ready. It will still be some four hours before the floodwaters arrive, by which time the majority of Chen Yu's forces should be over halfway through the pass.

"There will not be two thousand who come out of the pass alive, but those that do will be ready to fight to the death," Lu Ten says. "These are not the worst odds we have ever faced."

They wait. There is something about the terrain of the northern Earth Kingdom, brutal beauty cut into red cliffs and windless plains, that awes Lu Ten. It might be the incredible silence. It's as if the moisture of the clouds is heavy enough to weigh down any sound traveling through, blanketing everything in a vacuum. Breathing the thick air is both stifling and exhilarating, empowered by the knowledge that soon, the heavens will open up and smother everything below. Tension ricochets through the air, as if the static discharge from lightning bolts is making its way down to earth, making everyone's hair stand on end, waiting… waiting.

Three hours. The thought of Shinu's enraged face when he hears of Lu Ten's insolence cheers him. He wonders what censure he will receive as a result but cannot find it in him to care. The only important thing right now is the battle before them.

Two hours. Another green firecracker indicates that the front of Chen Yu's regiment has made it halfway through the canyon. The timing is good. The general will not become aware of the danger until the ranks in the back begin to plunge forward, frantically trying to escape the oncoming floodwater. It will be too late, then. They can outrun it, but not for long.

One hour. A red firecracker indicates that Hanxin and Chey have begun their descent from the mountains to rejoin the main force, their false signals no longer needed now that Chen Yu is safely ensconced in the canyon. This is the only part of the plan that had worried Lu Ten, initially: Chey assured him that it was unlikely for the floodwaters to overrun their path down from Taihang's peaks, but as long as there is a nonzero chance…

A soft quaking of the earth at first, growing in intensity, alerts them to the moment. They need no signal this time to know what is happening. It grows louder and louder, the stampede of hooves, the shouts of men, the frightened screech of falling ostrich-horses being swept away by waves of muddy water.

The water precedes the men, a frothing mess like a black tide rolling out of the narrow gorge, having accumulated a horde of tree branches and other debris on its way down from the peaks. Once out of the canyon, it spreads wide over the plains before the mountain range, and now, it is time.

Their small ranks of archers ready their bows, and the first wave of men breaching the neck of the canyon to free air fall beneath their arrows.

The second wave arrives, men on ostrich-horseback charging out of the gorge in straggly lines, their neat files lost to the ravage of the flood. Ostrich-horses spook easily, and their nerves are already fraught from the relentless onslaught of the flash flood. A few volleys from the firebending units stationed farther away leave them frazzled and confused, and the water continually spilling out of the canyon behind them does not help. They are top-heavy creatures, built for speed and not stability, and riders are unseated left and right.

Though the plain is vast and wide enough to spread the floodwaters in a shallow distribution, Lu Ten gives the signal to fall back slightly, away from the devastation and also to allow the Earth Kingdom survivors to die on the open field instead of piled up in a bottleneck.

Chen Yu makes it out with the third wave of riders, and at last, here he is: the man who allowed his one thousand recruits to die at Lu Ten's hands in battle instead of cutting his losses and letting half of them flee unscathed. The Battle of Iron Hills was only one out of Lu Ten's many victories in the northwest, but an indelible black mark in Chen Yu's book, at least by hearsay.

Though the battlefield is chaotic and rife with confusion, Chen Yu spots his target immediately. Lu Ten is engaged with a couple soldiers from the earlier waves who still have some fight left in them, but he dispatches them quickly and turns to face the furious general, who rides towards him like he plans to run him over. He's lost his helmet and is armed only with a long spear, likely having discarded his heavier accoutrements to lighten his steed's burden. Lu Ten readies himself—only for the general to suddenly fall from his mount, unseated by a knife through his unprotected throat, as another steed comes barreling out of nowhere.

"Idiot, were you really going to stand there and exchange blows with a man whose ankles are level with your head?" Hanxin yells at him from astride a rhino before yanking him up to sit in front of him.

Ah, so Hanxin and Chey made it down from the mountains too. All is proceeding well, Lu Ten thinks dazedly.

"Great timing," he manages to retort, "but I was doing just fine."

Hanxin tosses him the reins. "Here, you steer. Your _dao_ aren't as suited to fighting from this high up."

Lu Ten guides the rhino to cut a path back to the pass as Hanxin lashes out with his sword at the remainder of the soldiers trickling out.

"Can you put in a request with Shinu to get some decent steeds after this?" Hanxin complains in his ear. "These aren't proper war rhinos, and it was the hardest thing just to get them under control while we were stampeding around up top. Even Tu could only pray that his mount wouldn't charge right off the edge of the cliff, with everyone following."

He smiles, knowing that Hanxin is only this grumpy (in the midst of battle, no less) because he had just barely arrived in time to accomplish what he perceives as saving Lu Ten's life. It's not the first time they have done this to each other, and with their track records, it will definitely not be the last, but one thing remains constant all the while: they always make it out alive together.

Lu Ten relaxes, as much as he can atop a jumpy rhino with his self-righteously disapproving right-hand man at his back, and sweeps the field with his gaze, witnessing their victory and the beginning of a new page in his campaign.

It starts to rain.

* * *

 **HANXIN**

"Tell me a story."

Hanxin pauses, his fingers stilling in the strokes of the characters he's been writing idly on Lu Ten's back for the past few minutes. "What kind of a story?"

"Any story, I don't care. I just want to hear your voice." _After so long without hearing it._

Lu Ten's lying on his front, head resting on his folded arms, face turned away from him so he can't see his expression, but Hanxin feels a twinge of regret at the pain he imposed on his lover, tearing them apart when in reality, they were stronger together. He resumes tracing the same words on Lu Ten's skin even as he launches into a story from his childhood that he has never told anyone.

"I was raised and taught by an old minstrel, Master Song, back in our village. It wasn't much of a profession, especially for one with a primarily oral tradition like him. But he was stubborn _and_ talented, and so he managed to make a living of it, making music and crafting instruments.

"The funny thing is that I didn't always want to take after him and become a musician. When I was younger, I actually wanted to be a soldier, an officer, even. I wanted to be one of those heroic generals they sang about in legends and be remembered forever."

"You will be," Lu Ten vows. "Your name will be memorialized alongside mine in the annals of history, no matter when or how we die."

"Leave me out of it—you're the Dragon of the East. You stand alone among and above men." He laughs shortly. "But back to the story. I was about thirteen when I finally persuaded Old Man Song to let me get some weapons training. There were a few retired soldiers around, none of them masters, but good enough to give me the basics, and kind enough to give me a battered old sword of my own. I was very proud of myself.

"There was one person who wasn't as impressed by my prowess, a boy a little older than me called Du Fu. He was not a pleasant character, but rather a bully. One day, he saw me walking down the street with my new sword and mocked me for it." He imitates the bully: 'Even though you have some small skill with the sword now, you're still a coward. I dare you to use your sword to kill me. If you're too scared, then you'd better crawl between my legs like the coward you are.'

"And then you stabbed him to death cleanly, and everyone applauded you because he was such a bastard, no one even mourned him." Lu Ten finishes the story for him with murderous aplomb.

"No, I crawled between his legs like he said I would instead."

Lu Ten turns his head to face him and frowns. "Why?"

"In that instant, I thought about what to do, and I acted as I did because if I had stabbed him to death, I would have received the death penalty myself. That is justice. But if I were dead, then I could never have gone on to enlist in the army." He smiles at Lu Ten's disgruntled expression. "What, was that not a good story?"

"Any story, if it's told by you, is a good story. But when we get back to the Fire Nation, I will find that man and accept his challenge on your behalf," Lu Ten says, sitting up rapidly as if he plans to go do so right now.

Hanxin sighs and pushes him back down to lie still beside him again. "If anything, you should reward him with an official title and position."

"Why would I do that?"

"His actions shaped who I am today. That day, I learned restraint and temperance. I learned to choose my battles and come out all the stronger for them." He reaches out and tugs a recalcitrant Lu Ten over to cuddle against his side, surprising a small smile out of him.

"I still think he should die a horrible death," Lu Ten maintains stubbornly. "Boiled in oil, perhaps. Or drawn and quartered."

"I love you." The words he has been tracing on Lu Ten's body slip out of his mouth without warning, quite at odds with his lover's increasingly unpleasant visions. He just… hasn't had the opportunity to say it so casually in a while, and the very words bring joy to him.

Lu Ten lifts his eyes to Hanxin's face, his joy reflected in them. It is almost enough to make his heart overflow, passionate blood coursing through his veins, flowing unstemmed out of every surface—goodness, Lu Ten's gory imagination must be rubbing off on him. That does not sound joyful at all.

"I love you too," Lu Ten says, without fanfare, without saccharine, but only as sincerely as he can. "But… Hanxin, if you love me, there's something you need to come clean with me about."

Hanxin freezes, wondering what he can possibly be referring to. "What do you mean?"

Lu Ten sits up, and this time Hanxin does not stop him. He looks down at him plainly, unaccusing but unwavering. "I've noticed that whenever I refer to our future together, you always deflect me or change the topic. It's as if you don't want to continue what we have after the war is over."

Hanxin finds himself unable to return Lu Ten's gaze, his words striking the deepest part of him that shies away from his own weakness: the fear that one day this will all be over, and they will have to go their separate ways regardless of where their hearts lie. "Lu Ten, you… you can't possibly think that this will still work out when we're back home? You're a prince of the blood and directly in line for the throne. You can't have a lover, least of all a man of ignoble birth and no proper profession."

Lu Ten leans down, hovering close over him so that he can't turn his face away. His golden eyes regard him quietly, with such infinite gentleness that Hanxin has to close his eyes or be consumed by it. "Do you really think that I will cast you aside after we return? Beloved, you know what I want and need, above all else." He places a hand over Hanxin's chest, over his heart.

"It's yours," Hanxin chokes out, hoping his voice will not break—it is a close thing.

"But what do _you_ want?" Lu Ten continues, ruthless if not for the tender caress in his words. "Don't think of what other people will say or do. This is about us only. If I asked you to return to the capital with me, would you want that?"

Hanxin nods, lips sealed tightly to prevent those _stupid tears_ from reaching his throat and erupting out.

"If I asked you to remain by my side for as long as we live, would you want that?"

He nods again; it is the truth.

"Then have faith in me. No matter how difficult it is, no matter who objects, I will make sure you have a place in my life." One hand settles on the side of his face, cool and comforting in its breadth. "Did I not swear to you, that night on my birthday, that I would never forget you?"

He nods again, remembering that day, long before this all happened.

"If it makes you feel better, I will promise you, again." Lu Ten quietly presses his lips to Hanxin's to seal the promise, and he feels the tears bubbling up now at such an _inopportune moment_ right when he is kissing his love—

Lu Ten holds him through it, cradling his face in both hands and letting him empty himself of that grief and insecurity, replacing it with the realization that they _will_ continue their lives intertwined, for all the time that is given to them by the heavens.

"You know, I'm old enough now to have an estate of my own outside of the palace complex," Lu Ten remarks when he has settled down a bit. "Generally, it's expected of princes to move out when they're of age, but I never got around to it before I left. We can have just a few household staff, all trustworthy, private souls.

"Grandfather Azulon is getting on in years. After we return, he'll probably leave most of the day-to-day affairs to my father, whom I know will be fine with any additions I make to his ministerial retinue. Or if you want, you can stay out of court affairs altogether. The capital has plenty to offer you, and I daresay it can use your talents as well.

"In public, you can be whatever you want to me. You probably can't be my wife, though; there are laws that just can't be changed. Not that I'm a huge fan of the law to begin with."

 _As evinced by your wanting to gruesomely execute Du Fu for my honor, I can tell,_ Hanxin thinks, quite tickled at Lu Ten's devotion.

"I'll just not have a wife, then," Lu Ten declares, an easy choice for him. "There is the issue of the succession, but… hm. Zuko would be next in line after me, and when the time rolls around, he'll hopefully have an heir or two, so I won't have to worry about who to leave the country to."

Even as he is on the verge of sleep, Hanxin listens to Lu Ten problem-solve aloud, improbably fond of the man in his arms who has changed his life so much and continues to do so. How he could ever have thought to shatter their relationship… impossible. Nothing under Heaven can take away what they have now.

* * *

 **A/N:** I changed Master Song's profession to minstrel (he was introduced in chapter 10 as a schoolteacher, but then I thought, wouldn't he have taught Hanxin how to read and write? So instead he became a musician, from whom Hanxin received his training).

Really exciting (well, exciting for me) and long notes on this chapter! archiveofourown dot org/works/7019827/chapters/31735536


	13. His Heart's Song

**A/N:** So, the working title for this chapter was "The Last Happy Chapter", but some angst still snuck its way in. I'm sorry! I tried. This one is atypically epistolary, which was kind of fun and kind of challenging to write at the same time.

There is 18+ content, so if you would like to skip it, stop reading after "How can I resist you when you're like this? " and resume reading at "He wakes at the sound of a gentle rapping" ;)

* * *

 _2 years 6 months_

 **KONGMING**

 _Dear Colonel Shinu,_

 _Your plaints regarding Lu Ten's actions are valid, but rest assured, I have settled matters privately with him. There is no need for further remonstrance, especially in the wake of such a decisive victory on his part. He understands that his attitude was misguided, and you can expect no further resistance from him, I am certain._

 _I write not only to allay your concerns about my son's discipline, but also to discuss with you an innovative new strategy on the wall. I seek your opinion on whether the 18_ _th_ _regiment led by Lieutenant Colonel Lu Ten might be fit to spearhead this strategy…_

"Kongming, I am reassigning you to the 18th regiment," his uncle says, apropos of nothing.

He startles. "Why, sir?"

"Don't ask questions. I need you on the inside to inveigle yourself back into good standing with the lieutenant colonel." Shinu folds the letter up, steam nearly pouring from his ears in his fury. "He deserves more than a slap on the wrist for his blatant defiance of orders, and the operation Iroh describes herein is promising. Report immediately, and I will convey your orders when it's time."

"…yes, sir."

* * *

 **LU TEN**

"I don't think we'll ever find anything on how to restore your bending at this rate," Hanxin despairs.

"We?" he inquires delicately. " _You're_ doing all the work." He turns the page on another of his father's incisive new battle stratagems. There's enough here for an entire treatise to rival Qizheng's.

"You're right, and why is that?" Hanxin glares at the top of his head bent over the papers in fervent perusal, feigning disengagement in their conversation. "I've gone through our entire regiment and networked with six others. I've contacted every member of the Red Tower sect who could possibly know something. I've scoured Yin and Yang's brains for anything remotely related to medical cures for loss of bending. Xinbo and Xinran even got me a literal mountain of musty old texts gathered from their scholarly colleagues throughout the regiments. Yet you hardly seem concerned that nothing we've tried so far has worked."

"I don't know about that. The ginseng tea that Wok recommended seemed to give me a boost."

"You're not serious."

"No, it did nil for my firebending, but for bending certain other things…" He trails off and raises two lascivious eyebrows at Hanxin over the edge of his text.

"Oh. Spirits. You are…" He pitches himself backwards to lie, overdramatic, on his back staring up at the ceiling. He gathers his wits, a visible struggle, and breathes in deeply. "Incorrigible. Remind me why I love you again?"

"Probably because I'm such a good lover."

A shocked noise from the entrance, and they both turn to see Kongming standing there, very much wishing he weren't.

"I didn't hear that," he denies helplessly, even as a very telling and unflattering flush spreads over his face and neck. "I just came to drop off the quarterly account reports and see if you needed anything."

"Thank you, Kongming," Lu Ten manages, taking the stack of scrolls.

"Ehm… for what it's worth, I'm happy for the two of you," he says, stumbling a little over the uncharacteristic congratulations. He twists his now-empty hands together, wishing more than anything to end this intrusion. "Uh…forget it. Lieutenant Colonel, if there's anything else…?"

"No, that will be all."

"That was weird," Hanxin comments once he leaves. "First, he's about a year late to the party. Our anniversary was last week. And second, he never bothers with these sundry well-wishes like ordinary people do. He considers himself above such fraternal demonstrations."

"Maybe Shinu's such a bully that he's just glad to be back." Lu Ten doesn't seem to give it much thought. "But in all seriousness, do you know why I'm not fussed about my bending anymore?"

"Why?"

"Because it makes me feel closer to you all. With my bending, I could always be reasonably sure of surviving. Without it, I have to put extra effort into handling the battlefield like the rest of my men. When they fall, I fall."

"That's not making me feel any better."

Lu Ten smiles, but his eyes do not. "It should. It means that I will never outlive you."

LLL

 _2 years 8 months_

 _Dear Lu Ten,_

 _I hope you're well! I haven't heard from you in a while, and not from Uncle Iroh either. Is everything alright?_

 _You've been gone for so long that I wondered if you'd still recognize me! Or whether I'd recognize you, for that matter. Anyways, I've included a picture of me done by the royal portrait artist. I think she did a pretty good job._

Lu Ten examines the portrait of Zuko. His youthful face is still largely familiar. He's slowly losing the roundness of childhood, already ten years old, and his hair is pulled back in a sprightly ponytail, no longer a child's messy bird's nest. His eyes haven't changed, excited and animated for all that he is sitting sedately for the portrait (though his feet touch the ground now, he notes with amusement).

 _I'm taller than Azula now! We were stuck at the same height for years; I thought I was never going to grow. I don't think she's happy about this development, though. Recently she's been downright vicious in firebending training. That's what gets to me the most. I probably practice twice as much as she does, on top of my sword forms which I still do every day, but no matter what, I'm still not as good as her. I'm beginning to think I'll never catch up. I try to avoid her and practice knife throwing with Mai instead. She and Ty Lee are a lot more fun to hang out with._

The thing is, he honestly doesn't know what to say to make Zuko feel better. As a child, before the twins came along, Lu Ten was the bright, prodigious star of the royal family. The bending arts always came easily to him. In that sense, he was more like Azula: curious, clever, and searing in his mastery of all the skills expected of him. It's not that Zuko isn't brilliant in the ways that matter. He's simply overshadowed by a star that sooner or later, will burn itself out.

 _Azula says she would make a better general than Uncle Iroh. I asked her why, and she said because she wouldn't bother with a siege and instead just burn the whole city to the ground. I think that's a stupid idea, though. Why would we burn it all down? Then all we'd be ruling over is a patch of dead, useless earth. I hope Dad doesn't let her join up when we get old enough. He probably won't, since she's a girl, but I guess I'll have to go to war, too. That sucks, but I think I wouldn't mind if I got to serve under Uncle and you. I'd do anything if it was to help you._

The very words seem to swim on the page. _I'll have to go to war, too._

 _No. No, anything but that_ , he thinks. _This is not your place, Zuko_. He cannot allow the war to drag on long enough to pull his cousin into its steel embrace as well. He prays that he is wrong, that both siblings will grow up happy and unweathered by the demands of a war they inherited. That is why he fights, after all—so that they won't have to.

Picking up Zuko's portrait again, he wills himself to commit that face to memory, to carry it with him always in battle and remember what he fights for. He squints at the text in one corner, likely added by the assiduous court artist, and his heart sinks as he realizes what it says: _Prince Zuko, age eleven._

He missed the twins' birthday, which passed almost two months ago. They were born on the final day of the seventh month, the dying throes of summer, and of course Zuko wouldn't have mentioned it, too understanding of his cousin's responsibilities. Buried in memoranda and battle plans, it would have been a day just like any other. He shakes his head sadly and puts the letter aside. His cousin will forgive him, but he tells himself that he will not let it become a habit. Zuko deserves better.

LLL

"There you go." Shang hands him a sheet of still-wet parchment. "I made sure to get your good side."

Lu Ten regards his own stern likeness staring up at him in inky black strokes. "As opposed to what, the back of my head?" He snorts. "No, it looks good, Shang. I didn't know you had so many talents."

"Oh, you pick up things here and there," Shang says with an air of grandness. "Anyways, make sure you let it dry first. You wouldn't want General Iroh to see your face all smudged with ink, would you?"

"Actually, Shang…" He hesitates.

"Yeah?"

"Mm…" Why not? It would be a sorry thing if he came home a stranger. "Could you do another one of me, to send to my cousin Zuko back home?"

"Of course! Maybe something more relaxed? Hey!" A stroke of genius seems to occur to him. "Is Hanxin around? What am I saying, of course he is." Shang stands and pads over to the tent flap, calling out for him.

"Wait, uh, Shang…"

Hanxin appears. "We need you to pose in a picture with Lu Ten for his cousin to see!" Shang says, as if Lu Ten could not explain this himself.

"Er…" He pauses, looking towards Lu Ten, who understands his reluctance. He is, after all, still coming to terms with the fact that they have a permanent place in each other's lives. It would be a major step for them to appear in any sort of lasting record together, especially if Zuko's correspondence were to fall into the wrong hands.

"Hanxin, sit down next to Shang and stay there."

He does so. Shang frowns. "But I thought you would want—"

Lu Ten laughs lightly, not letting his gaze deviate from Hanxin's eyes even as he instructs a puzzled Shang. "Go ahead now, Shang."

Shang glances between the two of them briefly, realizing that they are going to be immersed in each other and nothing else for as long as the painting remains unfinished. He sighs. On the one hand, Lu Ten looks incandescent this way, his whole face lit with a gleam of passion and tenderness—love cannot lie. On the other hand, this puts incredible pressure on Shang to hurry up and finish the portrait so he can leave and they can be together.

"Okay. Let's do this."

* * *

 **HANXIN**

As he sits quietly, passing deeper by the moment into the eyes of his beloved, he wonders what brought this on, why Lu Ten is suddenly so desperate to leave behind something of himself for Zuko.

It's not difficult to infer. Autumn rises around them, and after winter descends spring. He knows that General Iroh wants this to be the last spring of the war, the final blow to the inner wall, which means that their most dangerous days are ahead of them. Lu Ten fears they will not return, that he will not get to watch his cousin grow up, so he commissions this, an image to remember him by. A mere portrait, however steeped in happiness, is still a paltry substitute for the mentor and friend that he represents to Zuko. But it is all that will withstand the ravages of time.

The air lies thick and heavy between them, and Hanxin clears his throat. Why should they sit in silence when there is joy to be had in song?

 _Last year when I came home, you had just donned new clothes_

 _This year, I visit and find you flush with growth_

 _Do you remember the pond full of lotus seed heads?_

 _Though the flowers wilt, fear not: I'll dye the leaves in red._

"'The West Wind's Words.'" Lu Ten recognizes the melody.

He cocks his head in surprise. "How do you know these folk tunes? Surely they don't make their rounds in the capital's refined music houses?"

"No, but you forget, I spent a year out in the islands with Zuko immersing myself in the lives of the people I will one day rule. It's not so strange that I should know their songs, is it?"

He says it so casually that it gives Hanxin whiplash: one moment he's convinced they'll never return home alive, and the next, he knows that he will live to ascend the throne.

"Zuko must be halfway to my shoulders by now," Lu Ten says, thinking back to the verses and mentally referencing the picture his cousin sent. "There aren't any lotuses in our pond, though."

Hanxin struggles not to laugh, because if he does, Lu Ten will laugh, and Shang's job will be even harder.

"Sing it with me," he suggests. That, at least, should keep them both sedate enough to finish the portrait sitting and move on to better things.

Lu Ten's voice is a shade lighter than his own, their tones melding together like two tributaries of a river, flowing ever farther downstream to be lost in the sea. He finds himself slipping away, consumed by their redolent harmony and the unblinking intensity of those eyes like amber liquefied.

Their last note has not quite faded when Shang stands in a hurry, snatching up his paper and practically shoving it in Hanxin's face. "Look, look!" He gives Hanxin hardly a second to take in his finished product before handing it over to his lieutenant colonel with somewhat more staidness. "Do you like it?"

"Uh, yes," Lu Ten says, sounding somewhat affronted, not at the quality of Shang's impeccable work, but at his frantic demeanor.

"Great! Ask Zuko what he thinks after he gets it and let me know—I'll be off then!" Shang all but flees.

Hanxin looks at Lu Ten, and this time they really do burst into laughter. "Poor Shang. I think we've spoiled his future relationship prospects. He'll think that all romances should be as resplendent as ours."

Lu Ten takes the paper and spreads it flat on the ground, smoothing it out so that it can dry evenly. "Should they not?"

"It's just unrealistic. I can't believe you made him stay and do your portrait while you put on your most lovesick face."

"I want Zuko to remember me in happiness, and there is nothing that makes me happier than you," Lu Ten says more soberly, rising and walking over to stand before him. "Dearest."

Hanxin sighs. _How can I resist you when you're like this?_

HHH

Their lips meet and stay there, closed and merely relishing the press of soft skin on skin, Lu Ten's hands resting on his arms, gripping not for balance but for continuity. They move as one, sinking into each other's embrace like a mountain caving in on itself, awesome and beautiful in its catastrophe.

Before long, Lu Ten's gasps and tiny cries of pleasure are unraveling him, just like the burning hands sliding under his shirt, lighting his skin aflame in their wake, diving lower, pulling their hips together, and Hanxin groans.

"Bed, now, Lu Ten," he grits out, steering them in the right direction. His love is like a firecracker tonight, ready to self-immolate in splendor for fleeting moments of passion, but Hanxin wants to savor this.

He lets the wild thing drag them to their knees, collapsing onto his sleep pallet and pushing him onto his back. With much steadier hands, he helps Lu Ten shuck his trousers so that he can settle atop Hanxin's hips and appreciate the friction that is almost too much all at once. His lover leans down with barely controlled impatience, dropping open-mouthed kisses down the side of his throat to the swell of his shoulder and insistently undressing him when he finds resistance in his path. Hanxin knows the wherefore of tonight's frenzy—the fear of time slipping through their fingers like grains of sand. But here, now, that is no threat.

"Slow down, love." He places both hands on Lu Ten's errant hips, stilling them and looking up into his wild eyes. "Slow down, it will be so much better."

"But—"

"You trust me with your life, yes?" He nods. "Then trust me with your pleasure as well." He pushes himself up so that Lu Ten is kneeling over his lap and leans over to retrieve the bottle of oil they keep at bedside. Though their position is awkward, Hanxin relishes the advantage it gives him in seeing every change of expression on Lu Ten's face as he slips his fingers into that tight heat. His wrist will probably start hurting if they keep this up long enough, but watching those eyes shut tight, lips slightly parted, is more than worth it.

"Tell me how it feels," he whispers, leaning forward to nip at one ear, his unoccupied hand gripping Lu Ten's waist.

"Mm, so good." His voice is no more than a low rasp, overcome with the feeling of being invaded, being held captive. "Oh _fuck…"_

"Don't stop."

"Do you… really need me to… to stroke your ego while you have—aghhh _, fuck damn it you—_ while you have three fingers inside of me?" Notwithstanding this, it's impressive how long of a sentence he manages to string together. "Or maybe you'd rather I stroked something else?"

Before he can get a hand between them to take Hanxin's cock, he finds both wrists trapped in a solid grasp, gently removed to rest behind his back. Hanxin widens his eyes in an unspoken challenge, and Lu Ten shivers slightly under his intense gaze but resists the urge to free his hands.

"Is this alright?" He wants Lu Ten to focus on them alone, on the sweetness of their joining, without the dilution of urgency and racing against time, but he doesn't want to cross any lines.

Lu Ten blinks out of the trancelike state he finds himself in, enthralled by the shifting dynamics between them, body and mind. "Yes. _Yes."_ He cannot think of anything he wants more.

Hanxin resumes stretching him at a leisurely pace, and though a few frustrated moans escape him, without the use of his hands to brace himself, Lu Ten has little in the way of leverage to bear down on his fingers. " _Please_ , Hanxin."

"Please what?" he asks pleasantly, as if he does not know. "You never hesitate to make me blush in polite company. Why hold yourself back now?"

He drops his forehead onto Hanxin's shoulder instead of answering, evidently unable to even keep his head upright under the onslaught of sensation. "Fuck me, please, _please_ you know I've been wanting it all evening I couldn't even _think_ —"

He doesn't delay, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his cock, his free hand steady on Lu Ten's waist, guiding him down at a measured pace. Lu Ten's thighs quiver with the effort of holding himself back until he settles firmly onto his cock, grounded and homed at last. "Oh… oh gods…"

Hanxin reckons that along with his wrist, his legs will be numb under the weight in about five minutes, and he plans to take at least that long if not longer with him. His lover deserves nothing less, so he clasps Lu Ten's limp wrists more firmly and begins to drive into him with maddening deliberation.

" _Ah…_ " It never fails to amaze him how Lu Ten, normally one of the most eloquent people he knows, so rapidly loses his capacity for speech amid unadulterated bliss.

"Oh, spirits… you're so perfect." He cannot help but keep up a steady whisper in his ear of all the adulation his heart can no longer contain, as if compensating for his silence. "So expressive, like the bloom of a fire lily." He's pleased to see Lu Ten's blush deepen, something he hadn't thought possible. "It's odd, I never cared for the flowers much until you mentioned them. But they fall far short of you, even in the height of summer. If you could see yourself from my eyes, you'd know I'm right."

"The flowers don't… live long w-without rain." The tremor in his voice is telling, that he's close, that he needs just a little more to surrender to his pleasure. Conversely, Hanxin slows the rhythm of his thrusts to an almost imperceptible tempo. " _Hanxin."_

"Patience," he soothes. "Just resist a little longer. The first blooms after a long drought are the most beautiful."

That gets him a bit of a sardonic chuckle. "Fine, I admit: I should be able to do better than hackneyed flower metaphors mid-coitus. But I have more important things to focus on than the quality of my poetry." He leans forward to catch Lu Ten's lips again, tongue curling into his mouth, seeking the essence of him like the sweetest honey. "Inspiration lies in the space between your lips and the air in your lungs."

Lu Ten says nothing, only leans in to him more heavily as he imparts more force and urgency to their coupling, finally accelerating like an unstoppable landslide towards the release that they both need.

Fire lilies need the gentle caress of rain to survive, but here is something he has not considered. The flowers' roots take in water from the soil. During the violent summer storms back home, they absorb the rain as fast as it falls, keeping it from washing away the topsoil and leaving the earth barren in the wake of a heartless mudslide.

 _You ground me,_ he thinks, finally letting Lu Ten's wrists drop so that he can take his straining cock in hand instead. His hands immediately sling around Hanxin's back, holding him as close as possible. _Without you, I am lost._

"I am to see to it that I do not lose you," he chokes out, the both of them so near to the edge, slipping with every passing second. "Without you, I am but a deluge."

"Hanxin—" Lu Ten manages his name only, a fleeting bemusement passing behind his eyes before it is replaced by his blinding release.

"Oh, Lu Ten—" It is too much, it is all too much, and he follows his love to the moment of oblivion. The night will erase the bleakness of his words here, and tomorrow…

Tomorrow is a new day, and a new song.

Afterwards, Hanxin wraps him up in his warm, long sleep robe, its wide sleeves billowing out around him like waves of woven silk.

"Too hot."

"You'll thank me when all that sweat dries and you get hypothermic," Hanxin says matter-of-factly. His actions are born of experience. "The nights are long and cold."

"Not cold. You're here," Lu Ten points out. He always gets a little muddled after sex, and Hanxin admits that he adores seeing him like this, sleepy and slightly punch-drunk. He lies down next to his love, and Lu Ten reaches over to stroke his hair. "You fuck me so well, Hanxin."

"…thank you?" He takes the hand mussing up his hair and lays quiet kisses on each fingertip.

"Gonna feel it tomorrow, every step…" he sighs, not displeased. He closes his eyes. "Can't get away from you even if I wanted to."

"No, indeed." Hanxin watches his long eyelashes flutter briefly before settling into the peaceful prelude to sleep. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me." _For as long or as short a time we have left._

* * *

 **LU TEN**

He wakes at the sound of a gentle rapping on the tent post at the entrance, much too early for anything but urgent news. Loathe as he is to rise, he must, but one thing is preventing him from getting out of bed.

Hanxin still sleeps, blissfully unaware of anything pertaining to the outside world, his head pillowed on the copious, long sleeve of Lu Ten's robe in such a way that he cannot disentangle himself without dislodging and waking him. Of all the dilemmas to face in this world, surely this is the worst.

He tries tugging carefully on his sleeve in long sustained pulls, then in short, contracted jerks, but no matter what he does, Hanxin continues to slumber in peace, and the sleeve remains wedged beneath him. Lu Ten's lips twitch in brief amusement; it appears that his capacity to completely wear his lover out is greater than he even realized.

The soft knocking resumes, compelling him to consider other measures. He tries to shrug the side of his robe off, but unfortunately that heavy head does not afford him the flexibility to maneuver out of the sleeve. He tries taking the robe off altogether, but the sash is tightly girdled around his waist, and the loose ends are also under Hanxin's head. The man clearly went to sleep with every intention of entrapping him here in the morning.

"Sir?"

He curses his ill fortune, but at least this time, Kongming has learned his lesson and does not barge in immediately, waiting outside for an answer.

"Just a moment!" he hisses, afraid of waking Hanxin.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. His swords rest close beside his bed as they always do, and here, at least, lies a stroke of good luck. Taking one in hand, he sets out to severe his sleeve from his robe entirely. Nothing is worth disturbing Hanxin's rest. It's more difficult than it appears: the length of the sword forces him to pull his free arm far back and awkwardly saw at the fabric of his sleeve. After a long minute of concerted effort, he manages to liberate his arm, leaving Hanxin there with only the mutilated sleeve under his cheek. Finally!

He gets to his feet in a hurry, then nearly falls flat as the events of the previous night kick in. More like, he feels as if he's been kicked in places that don't usually see the light of day. Rising more slowly, he treads over to the entrance where Kongming must be awaiting him still, his gait a befuddled limp that Hanxin will most decidedly not get to enjoy. In hindsight, he probably should have stopped to straighten himself out first.

"Sir, what happened with…?"

"Eh, wardrobe…malfunctions," he excuses himself sheepishly as Kongming looks alarmed at his shoddy tailoring. "Nothing to worry about. What brings you here so early?"

He gathers himself and hands Lu Ten an envelope with General Iroh's wax seal—broken, he notes.

"Did you read this already?"

Kongming stiffens, his expression frozen in fear, but Lu Ten shakes his head, smiling slightly. "Never mind, I know you are a curious soul, and orders directly from General Iroh always cause a stir in camp. Hanxin would chew you out for it probably, but I understand."

"Thank you, sir," Kongming says, bowing gratefully.

He opens the letter and starts to read. The smile fades from his lips as he nears the bottom.

 _Lieutenant Colonel Lu Ten,_

 _In two months, I expect to renew the attack on the northern aspect of the inner wall in a three-pronged assault. General Bujing will lead two thousand against the northern apex, and it is here that we actually plan to break through the wall using the drill developed by my engineers. I will personally lead five thousand to the wall just west of Bujing's contingent. With such a mighty force, the Earth Kingdom generals will be compelled to divert a significant sum of men from the main point of defense. But I do not believe that will be sufficient to weaken their central command, which is why I am instructing you to lead your regiment against the northeast corner._

 _Historically, it is the weakest point on the wall, and the generals of Ba Sing Se are all too familiar with your achievements on the battlefield. Given these facts, they will believe your strike to be the real threat and send reinforcements to your theater of combat, at least three thousand strong, if I anticipate their numbers correctly. Together, we will draw away enough of their forces for General Bujing and the drill to cut a path to the inner wall unhindered. The Dragon of the West and of the East joining forces: between our jaws, there will be no reprieve for Ba Sing Se._

He turns to the second page. It is abruptly brief.

 _I know that you will prevail, my son, despite the peril. You have always led your men to victory, and I expect this to be your last one,_ our _last. When we next meet, I foresee that it will no longer be on the battlefield._

 _General Iroh_

Lu Ten folds the letter up, his father's expansive script still floating in his mind's eye. Perhaps General Iroh is merely testing his willpower and resolve with such a show of numbers. All the same, he cannot help but think of it as a proclamation of his death sentence in wide, confident characters: four hundred against three thousand.

He turns back to Kongming. "I would appreciate it if you kept what you read to yourself. The stakes for this battle are higher than any we've ever faced, and it wouldn't help to create a panic."

"Yes, sir." Kongming avoids his eyes, probably unnerved by the gravity of the situation in Iroh's letter. No wonder he insisted on disturbing his commander so early in the morning. "I'll let you make your plans in peace, then."

* * *

 **KONGMING**

The lieutenant colonel is too kind, Kongming reasons. He cannot ascend the throne as a lord of men, of a powerful nation like theirs. Not like this. For the sake of the Fire Nation and its expanding empire, Lieutenant Colonel Lu Ten must be remembered only as he _was_ : unsuspecting and kind beyond the permission of cruel life and war.

In his pocket, what was actually meant to be the second page of the letter lies torn and crumpled. He takes it out and rereads General Iroh's message, the words that will never reach their recipient.

 _That said, four hundred men, no matter how war-worthy, is still insufficient to march against so many earthbenders. I am entrusting to you the command of the 83_ _rd_ _and 85_ _th_ _regiments, who total 1900 firebenders. They are relatively new recruits, having seen less than a year of combat. However, your capacity for training even less experienced platoons is not insignificant, and I know that you will use the intervening months wisely. They are currently stationed under Colonel Shinu's command farther south, as you know, but I will instruct him to mobilize them within the coming weeks._

The rest of the page is dedicated to general updates about the Dragon of the West's mundane daily life, the dwindling quality of his tea leaves, the incompetency of his inkstick grinder, and other sundry affairs that really do not belong in an official summons to battle. But General Iroh has never been one for dwelling on formalities.

With an entire page of Iroh's letter missing, Lu Ten has no idea that almost two thousand men are supposed to be coming to his aid in the last battle. But it makes no difference, because Colonel Shinu will most certainly take this chance to cut off his reinforcements. He will not give the command to mobilize the 83rd and 85th until it is too late.

 _You can still stop him_ , a voice in the back of his mind. _You don't have to go through with this._

By the time General Iroh realizes that the reinforcements never arrived, his son will have battered himself to bloody pieces on the unbreakable wall.

"It's too late," he tells himself resolutely. The lies are like bile at the back of his throat, and he feels sick to his stomach even as he swallows them down.

* * *

 _2 years 9 months_

 **LU TEN**

 _To General Iroh: see you after our victory. Your loyal son, Lu Ten._

He cringes at the formality of his tone, as stiff as his expression in the official portrait to be sent to his father before they embark on the battle that should end the war, and perhaps his life. It is what it is, a summary of their relationship as general and subordinate, the only one appropriate to the battlefield. He sets it aside to be sent off later and turns to Zuko's letter. He finally has free time to pen a reply and yet he finds himself challenged for words. Not having seen his little cousin for years, he wonders how they've both changed.

 _Friendship and brotherhood do not know the wear and tear of time and distance,_ he tells himself. _All will be well._

Outside, Hanxin tinkers softly with his lute, notes streaming off the strings like waterfalls in a secluded valley. He is composing, and the quiet rhythm of his starts and stops lulls Lu Ten. He starts writing as that divine voice cascades around him.

 _Change is the only constant on this earth_

 _Chaos strikes fear into hearts like a disease_

 _The blood still flows, forgotten, without worth_

 _The blaze incinerates all hope for peace._

Dear Zuko,

I know it must be discouraging to constantly come second to Azula in firebending techniques, but you have it in you to surpass her, and indeed anyone, as long as you keep trying. It's easier said than done, but not impossible. I'm glad that you're keeping up practicing with your swords, and that you, Mai, and Ty Lee are getting along, though. It sounds like you're learning a lot from each other.

 _Swords of wisdom cut me off from my love_

 _With no will to live my remaining years_

 _The palace still towers proudly, high above_

 _Oaths of pure hearts rend the night in tears._

Speaking of which, Hanxin says hello and wants to know if you and Mai have kissed yet (?!) and also when you're going to start wearing your hair in a topknot (I showed him the portrait you enclosed last time). Please ignore his silly questions; he would not stop pestering me until I promised I would write them down. Truly, he is a hilarious if somewhat misguided comedian.

 _The old red bow hangs on the wall, untried_

 _An endless march, armor stained and wronged_

 _The vision in my mind cannot be kept inside_

 _To realize the world's beauty is my heart's song_

Ever since we broke past the outer wall of Ba Sing Se, we've had to become much more vigilant, since we could be surrounded by the enemy in their home territory any time. Don't give up on me if you don't hear from me. We're going to be involved in some pretty major battles soon, is all I can say, so I might not have a chance to write for a while, but I'll try.

Along with the letter to his cousin, he encloses the second painting of himself, the one done while looking at Hanxin, soul practically leaking out of his eyes with affection. It seems bare and sparse, so he inscribes an addendum in the bottom right corner: "To my dearest little brother, so that I'll always be with you." He hopes that one day he will see Zuko again, but he is prepared for any eventuality.

Outside, the song continues, swelling stronger than before, the culmination of the song arriving in these last few lines.

 _The mountains lie like fallen spears; Who can mend Heaven's tear?_

 _A spear stained with the martyr's blood: the youth of yesteryear,_

 _A lone shadow, returns home without a beacon to light his way_

 _A thousand autumns etched on our hearts for latter days_

 _The wind rises; the clouds scatter._

The black ink dries slowly, and he turns the paper over with a heavy sigh. From the bottom drawer of his desk, he withdraws a short, well-used inkstick the shade of translucent jade and busies himself with grinding it to fine dust, Hanxin's verse echoing in his head all the while.

Here are the words that he really wants to say, that he's afraid to admit to Zuko, to himself: that the chances of him returning home alive are slimmer every day. The wind rises, the clouds scatter, and battlefields turn in the blink of an eye, unpredictable. He and Hanxin know this. Zuko was just eight when he left, but by now, perhaps he has begun to intuit it as well.

He writes his heart's song in clear ink out on the other side of the letter. No one should be able to read it except for Zuko, in front of the light of a lonely candle flame.

Even though it's been three years, I still miss you lots. The higher-ups like to remind us that we're fighting to defend our country, but in my heart, I know that I'm fighting to get back to you. Sometimes I think that if I live long enough to see the inner wall come down, you'll be standing on the other side. Most of the time, it's the only thing keeping me going. But don't worry, cousin. I _will_ come back.

* * *

 **A/N:** Notes this time are very long and exciting. Here they are, along with some links to listen to the lovely songs used in this chapter. I had such a fun time organizing the translations: archiveofourown dot org /works/7019827/chapters/33068304


	14. Inflection Point

**A/N:** Dear lovely readers! This is the chapter you've all been dreading, but really you should be dreading what comes after it. Fortunately this book is almost done (haha, every time I say that, it takes eons), and after that, you can follow Lu Ten to the main plot (finally). I won't say more for now. See you on the other side!

 **TW: Graphic violence, blood and gore.**

* * *

 _Three years_

 **HANXIN**

In retrospect, he should have known.

He should have known that General Iroh would never order his son to face an Earth Kingdom force of three thousand without any backup.

He should have known that Lu Ten could not be brought down by any means other than subterfuge behind closed doors, that his defeats were contrived by forces beyond the light.

But most of all, he should have known better than to trust this crawling, shriveled husk of a man, no more honorable than a thief, who betrayed his commander for his own gain.

The air around them is smoky and humid with freshly spilled blood rusting on armor. No patch of earth lies unturned by the trample of war. They are surrounded by the enemy, well and truly, driven back from their initial charge all the way to the northeast corner of the outer wall, with no outlet at their backs. The 23rd and 27th units are holding them off even now, while the rest of the units are engaged elsewhere, but their strength is dwindling, and Hanxin gauges that all told, they will not last longer than half an hour from now. The remnants of the original 18th unit, some forty strong, stand at his side, too stricken by their impending reality to take action. Sooner or later, they will be forced to, but they deserve to know the truth before the end.

"Kongming." The traitor kneels in abjection, Shang and Wok standing behind him, swords drawn. He bows his head, too terrified to look Hanxin in the eyes, and yet brazen enough to spend months— _months! Wasted—_ carrying messages to Colonel Shinu and ensuring that Lu Ten could not help but fall in battle to an untimely end.

He unsheathes his sword, the resounding clang of metal a clarion call amid the sounds of men dying. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Kongming has the decency not to weep in these final moments. If any tears are to be shed, they should be for Lu Ten, and a traitor's tears are not worthy to fall on the same ground where he rests.

He presses his forehead to the ground. "Please, Hanxin."

It is not clear whether he means to beg for mercy or for death, but his wishes in this moment are irrelevant. There is no other penalty for his crime. Hanxin lifts his sword without fanfare and lets it fall. For the first time, his blade takes the life of his own countryman.

An understated _thud,_ and the dam bursts. Blood sprays and then oozes from the last weak pulses of a faithless heart, drenching his feet, bathing the ground in bright, bright red until it congeals into coppery darkness. The smell of iron is overwhelming, and beside him, Shang retches slightly, but he has no more time to waste on consolations.

He leaves Kongming's head and body there for the elements to partake of. The men follow, stony-faced, to the shadow of the wall where Yin and Yang stand guard. Lu Ten lies barely conscious, shallow breaths filling his chest far too infrequently. His helmet and his armor remain discarded beside him, too heavy for his failing body. Hanxin's eyes are drawn immediately to the hasty mass of bandages wrapped around his torso, and the steadily spreading stain of crimson from his wound, just beneath his ribs on the right side. It is the work of an exceedingly well-placed spear from a common Earth Kingdom foot soldier, withdrawn before Lu Ten even had a chance to react.

"It's not particularly large, but it's very deep," Yang explains hurriedly as he draws near. "All the same, he'll bleed out unless we can stabilize him soon. His gallbladder's definitely hit, but the kidney is what I'm really worried about considering this angle…"

Hanxin raises a hand to cut him off as Lu Ten manages to open his eyes. He sinks down beside his love, not wanting to miss what could be his last moments.

"Hanxin…" he murmurs.

"I'm here."

Lu Ten pauses, and it seems as if he is too weak to continue. Hanxin grits his teeth against a wave of the realest fear he has experienced throughout all these years of endless warfare. Yin and Yang's skill as emergency field medics is not to be underestimated, but their forces are scattered to the winds, and they are backed up against the outer wall with no defensive core to protect their commander. There truly is no hope. At most, they can wait for reinforcements to hasten from the west once General Iroh receives news of the situation—several hours too late.

Until then… he has an idea, certainly not a good one, but it is the only thing that may preserve Lu Ten's life. He starts to take off his own armor, untying his bracers first and then tugging the clasps under his arms loose with jerky, unstable motions born of urgency. Before he can go any further, though, Lu Ten speaks, the mere passage of air through his vocal cords seeming to cost him scads of energy that he cannot spare.

"Hanxin, promise me." He fixes Hanxin with a clear gaze for all that he is slipping into unconsciousness. His voice hitches, words catching on the pain from his wound, but he struggles on. "Keep on living, for me. You have to… swear it to me, Hanxin."

There is nothing ambiguous about his last wishes. Time is running out, and though Hanxin hates to make a promise he cannot keep, he has never learned to properly say no to Lu Ten. Leaning down to hover over him, he cradles that precious head in both hands and captures those lips without even the strength to tighten around his. Their kiss is painful with desperation, lips trembling through the realization that this will be their last.

He pulls away, Lu Ten's eyes already lidded with exhaustion and shock from blood loss and stands. The men know it, too: that none of them will live to see the sunrise, that it is the only reason he dares to claim Lu Ten's penultimate breath in front of them, that none of that matters, as long as he lives.

He hauls the rest of his armor over his head and hands it to Shang. "Put this on for the Lieutenant Colonel," he commands, lacking any emotion whatsoever in his tone.

"But, Hanxin…" Shang is a bright boy, and Hanxin regrets that his brilliance will end here, the threads of all their stories cut short. It is futile, though, to try and evade their doom.

"Just do it. It's the only way," he says shortly.

Shang hurries to obey, dropping to his knees beside his commander and garbing his limp, unresponsive body in the armor of a common soldier, hands shaking as they ghost over his wound, fearing that he will pass from this world before there is even a chance of rescue. Hanxin strides over to take up Lu Ten's own armor, and his fingers now fly through the many knots and clasps with ease, having done this every time for his lieutenant colonel. A long, resplendent sheet of blue scales covers him, and with grim finality, he places the dragon helmet over his head, for the first time seeing the battlefield as Lu Ten does. He picks up Lu Ten's swords, their grips unfamiliar in his hands, but it is no hindrance: he wields the courage of despair, and that is sufficient to carry the battalion well into the approaching Earth Kingdom ranks, driving them far away and keeping them from discovering Lu Ten, alone and vulnerable.

The 18th company leaps to his command. There is Shang, unquenchable in his kindliness and charm; Songzhen, with whom he'd butted heads initially but grew to trust; Wok, abrasive of tongue and never unsure of his words' welcome; Zhangwei, an old partner and always reliable; the unflappable Tu and Ao; Yin and Yang who've always kept the company in good health; and all the rest, few though they now are, remain united in their conviction to protect their commander for as long as they can.

The Azure Dragon of the East rallies one last time.

* * *

 **IROH**

"Your evening jasmine tea, sir."

General Iroh opens his eyes, his vision blurry for a brief second, though he does not know whether it is from tears or from staring through the steam of a fresh cup of tea set before him by Lu Zhao, his aide. His voice is timid, as if afraid to disturb the general's reverie.

"Mm." He acknowledges the tea but does not drink it.

"Sir, do you plan to retire soon?"

An apt question, indeed, and if he's being honest with himself, he has no reason not to.

The Fire Nation's plan of attack is in shambles. He was too arrogant: the defense at the inner wall proved far more durable than he expected. General Bujing, ever the sly-minded plotter, chose not to deploy the drill against the wall when he realized that the enemy forces were stronger than he could have hoped for. Without surety of success, there was no reason to reveal their secret weapon.

But if it were only a question of the success of his battle plans, he could soldier on. He has endured defeats in his earlier days, and he can still suffer them to pass without losing too much of his reputation. He could still go on, save for one thing.

His beloved son is gone, and Iroh himself practically sent him to his death.

It has been two days since he received the news. The Azure Dragon's armor was found scattered in bloody pieces along the banks of the Sable River, which flows from under the wall out of the city of Ba Sing Se. He cannot even erect a proper resting place for Lu Ten's body and spirit now. His entire regiment was slain as well, not having had any reinforcements to rely on in that final stand. The official word from Shinu is that the units ordered to aid them arrived too late, but what good will it do to excoriate the colonel for something outside of his control? No, ultimately, it all comes down to General Iroh himself, and his willingness to let others die for what he believes to be right.

"I think I will," he says. "Leave this mess to General Bujing; I am finished with all of it. I suspect the Fire Lord will be more than happy to accept my resignation and leave me to wander the world alone. After all, what have I accomplished in three years here, except to kill my own son and fail to take the city? This endeavor was doomed from the beginning."

Lu Zhao blinks rapidly, stumbling over his words as he clarifies. "Sir, I-I only meant, do you plan to go to bed soon? It's half past midnight, and you've been sitting here for hours."

Iroh would smile at his earnestness, but in truth, he has no desire nor capacity to feel anything but numbing grief and shame in this moment. "I know, Lu Zhao. I am merely answering the question that is more important to me."

His aide nods, sensing that he wishes to be alone, and departs. Iroh regards the cup of jasmine tea with weary eyes. He remembers his own words to his son after Lu Ten first arrived on the battlefield three years ago. "Some die who deserve life, but we cannot give it to them."

Indeed, he cannot.

III

 _Three years two weeks_

His ship is ready to set sail away from Ba Sing Se, away from three long years of futile effort. They are docked at the Bay of Farewell, just northeast of the city, aptly named for many Earth Kingdom seafarers who chose its waters as their starting point to sail north and south. The Yuanfen Sea, southwest of the city and the route by which he first arrived, is closed to them now. It seems too many Fire Nation ships passing through its waters awakened a great sea serpent which proceeded to express its displeasure through vigorous capsizals.

"Sir, the crew are making the final preparations," Lu Zhao informs him. "Will you go up on deck or…?"

"No, Lu Zhao, I'm fine where I am." Somehow the thought of going up to catch a last glimpse of the shore isn't terribly appealing.

"Yes, sir." He turns and leaves for other pressing duties, tireless as always.

Iroh makes sure he is alone before addressing the empty hallway. "Why don't you come out now?"

Half a second's pause, and then from the farthest shadows diffuses the figure of a man, eyes wide with fear at his discovery. Iroh has sensed him on the periphery of his mind's awareness for quite some time now. In the dim torchlight, he observes the man's face, trying to place him.

"You are the one who was always present at my son's right hand." It is only the absence of Lu Ten that hindered his recognition for so long.

The man nods wordlessly.

"You know that I could have you court martialed for desertion?" Iroh says sternly. "You are not among the ranks permitted to return under my command. You would be treated as a spineless stowaway, no more, and a traitorous one at that."

At the mention of betrayal, he drops to his knees, shaking his head solemnly, still putting forward no verbal defense. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

The man looks up at him without guilt in his expression, a deep devastating pain that suffuses his whole body, his hands twisted firmly together, his throat tight with stemmed tears. Iroh feels his heart clench, then soften, at that naked expression. Perhaps it is the shock of losing his commanding officer that holds his tongue, but his eyes say it all. In them is the sorrow of having done everything he could to save Lu Ten but still failing. That, at least, is more than what Iroh attempted.

"I understand why you would not want to linger either, now that he is gone." He wishes that they could have met under brighter circumstances. "I do not plan to return directly to the Fire Nation, where there is nothing for me now. I will likely leave mid-voyage to see the world for once, instead of just trying to conquer it." And perhaps, to see other worlds where Lu Ten now belongs.

The man watches him calmly, as if waiting for a verdict.

"Stay on board and stay hidden until the ship reaches Fire Nation waters. If you need anything, find Lu Zhao."

He places his hands together in a respectful bow, but Iroh cannot bring himself to return it. He turns on his heel to go back to his room, and when he looks back, the hallway is empty once more.

"I am sorry."

* * *

 **HANXIN**

 _Keep on living, Hanxin_. Lu Ten's last words to him, his final command, and he cannot but obey. Lu Ten's death does not release him from his orders; if anything, it becomes all the more imperative that he abide, to grant peace to that lost soul taken too early.

He sinks to the floor of the supply closet he's taken refuge in. He did not expect Iroh to react kindly to seeing him stowed away aboard a ship he has no right to be on, but he could see no other way out. If he must continue down the narrow path of his cursed life alone, he may as well go home to a place with no memories of his departed love.

How can he go on like this? He has lost everything: his comrades, his beloved, his position of security at Lu Ten's side, even his voice. Ever since he dragged himself out of the river, half-drowned in an effort to escape the Earth Kingdom soldiers in pursuit, he has been unable to utter a single word, not even a single prayer to light Lu Ten's path in whatever life awaits them after this one.

 _Is he really dead, though?_ An insidious sliver of hope wriggles its way into his heart, and he hardly has the energy to stave it off.

That night, when the last battle had concluded and both sides had retreated, he'd crept out of hiding, going back to where he'd left Lu Ten. He'd searched through dozens, hundreds of bodies, too many for the Fire Nation's decimated forces to even think of laying to rest in one day. His empty stomach rolls just thinking about it. Charred flesh, skulls caved in, eyes frozen open, entrails spilling from flesh torn asunder, the acrid tang of sweat and blood and bowel and sulfur: hell unleashed on earth. Stepping over bodies and sometimes on them, the battle plain like a field of plum trees back home, sickly sweet with the smell of rotting fruit, the consistency of turgid flesh not unlike the squelch of overripe plums trampled underfoot. Faces he knew, faces too young to lie still in death's clutches, some clenched in a final rictus of pain, some relaxed, glad to be released from life's bonds. The stains he was able to clean out from under his fingernails, but the grisly feeling of stiff flesh oozing cooling blood over his hands as he turned over yet another body will forever stay with him.

A field of horrors, but the greatest of all: the one he sought was not to be found.

 _He can't have survived. Not when every single man in the contingent was wiped out._

 _Except me._

He closes his eyes, pictures Lu Ten in his mind's eye, not as he lay dying, but as Hanxin last saw him just before the final battle, smiling and glorious in the evensong of their doomed love. He wills the words to pass his lips, but they do not come, and he sighs, still unable to stir the air with sorrowful words of regret.

 _Forgive me. I wish it had been me instead._

Whether his voice will ever return to him or whether Lu Ten has taken it to the grave with him, it hardly matters. All that remains to him is this miserable life.

* * *

 **OZAI**

He watches from afar as a servant presents Ursa with the news. The children cavort around her in the garden, carefree and unaware of the way their lives are about to change forever.

 _Temperance,_ he cautions himself. _The throne is not yet yours._ Fire Lord Azulon has always favored Iroh, but even he should be able to see that his eldest son is no longer the best candidate to succeed him.

Zuko runs crying from the garden, inconsolable at the news of his cousin's death. Azula looks to her mother, but Ursa stares blankly after her son, frozen in grief as well. She turns, expression unchanged, and follows her brother more sedately.

The question of Ozai's own successor, when the time comes, is no great dilemma. Though by order of birth, Zuko should inherit his throne, Azula is his true heir. By then, there will be precedent for a younger sibling to attain the highest place in the Fire Nation, and if the ministers really insist on sticking to tradition, unable to accept a second-born, well…there are ways of removing Zuko from the picture, distasteful though they are.

Besides, none of that will matter when Azula turns sixteen and her powers are revealed. It is time for the Dragon of the West to set, his eyes put out far too easily, after all.

* * *

 _ **Lake Laogai**_

He looks up from his desk at the agent presenting his report, surprise veiled behind a studied expression. "A prisoner, you say?"

Under the eerie, verdant glow of the braziers in the room, Agent Ge looks pale with splintered nerves— _unacceptable, get on Niu-er's case about training the new recruits,_ he notes to himself—but he manages to pull himself together enough to answer.

"Yes, sir. The only survivor of the battle at the northeast corner, and the only prisoner of war that General Howe has captured in months; the Fire Nation army rarely presents the opportunity. He wasn't pleased that our agents demanded his release to us."

"What useful news have you learned from him thus far?" _Cut straight to the chase, what does it matter what an incompetent military man thinks?_

"We…haven't, sir." He bows slightly, chagrined. "He was found heavily injured, tucked away among many other soldiers who fell beside him at the wall. It seems that someone found the time to attend to his wounds and bind them up tightly before leaving him there. Over the past two weeks, General Howe's medical personnel worked long and hard to stabilize his condition so we could bring him down here. We thought it best not to use force against him without knowing what your plans might be."

He sighs, rising from his seat to turn to the fireplace behind him. Another cord of wood goes into the flames, stoking them gently, not allowing them to rage unhindered. Agent Ge's shadow on the floor must be trembling in the wavering light like his confidence, though the man himself remains standing stolidly. There are ways to extract information from a person's mind without rattling their skulls, but he supposes Niu- _er_ would not have taught them this. Shu- _er_ on the other hand…

"Well, we know that he's not a firebender," Ge offers in a last-ditch effort at competence. "He hasn't tried to use firebending to escape at all. In fact, he's done nothing to resist us this whole time."

"Intriguing." It seems he must attend to this matter personally. "Keep him in the holding cell without restraints, then. I'll see to him when I have the chance. Have your two elders keep watch; I'll trust no one else."

Ge bows and retreats quietly, closing the stone doors with a soft but unacceptably tangible _thoom._ He shakes his head. _Temperance,_ do none of them know the meaning of it nowadays?

There is still Shu- _er,_ though. This bureau will not be entirely lost after he is gone.

LLL

He arrives at the holding cell, a broad, octagonal room with a stories-high ceiling that could easily hold a hundred people, and yet a single forlorn figure occupies one dark corner.

He takes in that slight form even as the prisoner turns his head to track his movements. The man is younger than he expected. No doubt in full armor he was much more impressive, but dressed in prisoner's robes which do nothing to flatter his underfed habitus, two weeks without a shave leaving only a faint shadow along his jawline, he looks practically childlike, hunched over, chin to his knees.

Children make excellent soldiers, though. Obedient, quick to learn, loyal to a fault… start them young, and you get a lifetime's supply.

"Good afternoon," he says with as much pleasantry as he doesn't have. He approaches to a nonthreatening distance of about five yards, close enough for conversation.

The prisoner blinks slowly, the motion magnified in the sparse light of rock crystal lamps mounted on the surrounding walls. "Is it?" he asks. His voice is hollow, like the echo of rocks thrown in an empty well. "I'll have to take your word on that, since I don't have the luxury of seeing the sun anymore. Does Lake Laogai freeze over in the winter? I suppose in that case it wouldn't matter if I had a cell with windows anyways."

 _Hm. Atypical._ A schooled demeanor: quick-witted, blasé in the face of crushing defeat, totally inured to his mortality and the inescapability of his situation—not an ordinary soldier. But anyone could have guessed that just from the circumstances of his survival. Active on the battlefield, but lucky enough to endure mortal wounds that laid low all the rest. Someone valued him enough to save his life, probably sacrificing their own in the process, on a fetid battlefield where chances of living were barely nonzero. A military officer without bending, though, duly stymies him, as does the fact that the prisoner seems to be familiar with his surroundings. Lake Laogai doesn't often see the battlefront, and he can't fathom how this man is so sure of his location.

As he surmises all this and more, it seems the man has something else to say.

"I'm flattered that you decided to keep me alive after all, when you tried so hard to kill me last year on the lakefront. What do the Dai Li want with me now?"

He knows who the Dai Li are, and moreover, he seems to have dealt with them in the past, severely narrowing the possibilities as to his identity.

\- Ranking officer

\- Nonbending

\- Previous encounter with Dai Li agents

\- Familiarity with Lake Laogai

\- Smarmy confidence and silver tongue that will get him _nowhere_

Check, check, check, check, and check. This man has been known to him for a long time, in fact, and it is fate's doing that they are here like this now.

"Nothing at all onerous, Lieutenant Colonel Lu Ten." He lets a crooked, smug smile to slip past his lips at the slight discomfit crossing the man's face upon being so called out. If he thought he had the upper hand, he was wrong. "We here at Lake Laogai have immense respect for the infamous Dragon of the East. Your life is of no interest to us, but your knowledge of the Fire Nation's battle plans…" he trails off, hinting at more.

Lu Ten rises from his sitting position by pushing back against the wall, though it costs him as he nearly slides down it again, overcome by the strain on his still-healing wound. He braces one heavy forearm behind him and manages to stay upright, their eyes meeting on the same level at last. "I guarantee you, you will not be able to extract a _single_ piece of information from me," he hisses, a virulent promise that he will be unable to keep.

"Of course we won't extract anything from you. You'll give it to us freely."

Agent Ge's report from the north included the news that General Iroh had left the battlefield entirely and would not return. Now it is clear why he has lost all will to continue. A hostage exchange is out of the question. If Iroh stays out of the war, sunken in sorrow and guilt, they have a chance of pushing the Fire Nation back for good. And for that to happen, his son Lu Ten cannot leave the city alive. His only use in life lies in what he can still tell the Dai Li.

This shouldn't be too difficult, he reasons. The child is predictable, perhaps too much so, but at least that might make the learning curve a little less steep on the disciples. His bending is indeed gone, courtesy of the Battle of Lake Laogai (a Pyrrhic victory for the Dai Li, in hindsight), and he seems about as capable of escaping on his own two feet as a spotted snail sloth.

"I've neglected to introduce myself; terribly rude of me. I'm Long Feng, Grand Secretariat of Ba Sing Se."

"I can't say it's a pleasure."

If he ever has the good fortune to meet General Iroh in person, he'll be sure to remark upon his churlish son. With one swipe of his right hand, the wall at Lu Ten's back springs stone bonds to hold him fast to the vertical surface—a favor, he justifies, so that he doesn't fall flat on his face when Long Feng says…

"Come down then, both of you."

Lu Ten obviously hasn't been checking the ceiling, and Long Feng allows himself a glimmer of satisfaction as he recoils in shock at the two agents who drop down from dizzying heights to land before him, their movements sure and precise, having truly received the teachings of the Dai Li.

"I would like you to meet my two most outstanding disciples, Long Shu and Long Niu." The two girls bow respectfully in turn, because Long Feng taught them their manners, unlike General Iroh. "They will be your closest companions during your stay with us."

"What are your orders, Master?" Shu- _er_ asks, speaking for both of them.

He smiles, as near to indulgent as he can be.

"The first one of you to break him will be my true successor."

* * *

 **A/N:**...sorry, there were a lot of places I could have put a cliffhanger, but it just went there the most naturally.

Notes regarding anatomy and stuff, gallbladders, strokes, Long Feng, and a chronology of this entire book so far: archiveofourown dot org /works/7019827/chapters/33790835


	15. can't breathe until you choke

**A/N:** I was originally going to include both Long Niu and Long Shu's parts in this chapter, but it got too long, so I split it. This first part, Long Niu's, doesn't feel like a lot's happening, but it's kind of just setting up for Long Shu.

 **Trigger warning for graphic torture and violence.**

* * *

 **LONG NIU**

"Shall we flip a coin?"

Long Shu shakes her head. "I was rather thinking you could go first. I'll need some time to plan, but I know you're always prepared."

"Sister, don't flatter me; you just want me to weaken him for you, so that you can claim the credit for breaking him." She says this without any real ire. Even if her disciple-sister succeeds, which is far more likely, Long Niu wouldn't begrudge her the victory. They have been through too much together to quarrel over friendly competitions like this.

"Not if you break him first." Long Shu's smile is a flash of teeth and a sly wink. "Go ahead, then."

She lets herself into the cell, its occupant awake, kneeling quietly on the ground and expecting her.

"Hello, Lu Ten," she greets, because it seems less rude than just cutting straight to the chase. Long Niu always tries to be polite with her prisoners; it's a small courtesy considering how much she is able to extrapolate from them in return. She lowers herself to rest opposite him on the ground, a scant few paces separating them. "How are you today? How are you liking your accommodations?"

She looks around even as he loftily ignores her small talk. There's not much in the way of accommodation: a bed of fresh straw constitutes a humble pallet in one corner, strewn with a generous two blankets; a crystal lamp emits a faint green glow overhead; a modest bowl of gruel rests against the far wall, half empty—good. He'll need his strength.

"I know why you're here." He regards her with an icy stare, colder than she would have thought the warm tones of his eyes suggested. "You don't need to make any pretense of what it is you want."

"I know you know why I'm here," she replies briskly. "You must be intelligent, to have accomplished as much as you have on the battlefield, so I won't insult your intellect by lying to you. You are not going to leave here alive. From here on out, the only choice you can make for yourself is how much pain you would like to be in as you die."

He says nothing, having expected as much, but the muscles of his jaw twitch in resignation, his trials imminent.

"In good faith, I am giving you one chance. Tell me what you can about the Fire Nation's offensive strategy, and you can avoid what I have planned for you. Anything you have to offer is fair game: ranking officers, deployment plans, secret weapons, spies within Earth Kingdom ranks. Your knowledge in exchange for your comfort: it's simple commerce, isn't it?"

He lifts his chin and crosses his arms in defiance—typical. He'll maintain his heroism with these displays for now, but Long Niu has seen stronger men crumble and fail at her hands. Rising to her feet, she shakes out her sleeves and watches those amber eyes widen as two pairs of rock gloves spring to her command, one pair securing his ankles to the ground and the other pair encircling his wrists behind his back.

"Just a precaution," she explains, reaching up to undo her hairpiece. It's a simple affair, just a sturdy alabaster circlet pierced by a jade pin. Her ponytail remains secured by ribbon even as she takes the pin out and pulls the circlet free of her thick, long hair. "Do you know what this is?"

He's much tenser now, staring up at her without any cheer, though he still doesn't deign to answer her (mostly rhetorical) question.

"This circlet is made of jennamite, a rare form of crystal. It responds to my earthbending in a very special way." She exhales deeply, emptying her lungs, and with that long breath, the circlet expands into a wide ring, wide enough to slip over Lu Ten's shoulders and under her careful guidance, settle right beneath his ribs.

She breathes in once more.

* * *

 **LU TEN**

As soon as Long Niu inhales, he realizes what is about to happen. The crystal ring contracts, compressing his torso in a crushing sensation that pushes the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath.

She exhales, and the ring relaxes somewhat, allowing him just enough room to suck in a little air to tide him over.

"It's handy, isn't it? Breathing is so very necessary for life. I usually find my prisoners much more cooperative with a band around the diaphragm to keep their lungs from expanding fully." She stalks closer, circling him like a preying mantis-tiger. "Not around your neck—I do need your brain in working order. Around your chest wouldn't work either; too much risk of a fractured rib piercing a lung and cutting us short." She stops behind him, close by his ear. Her voice is strangely tender, gentle with none of the harsh, cruel timbre of your typical bloodthirsty executioner.

"I intend to take my time with you."

She inhales again, a luxuriously long intake, and if he weren't on the verge of choking, he could better appreciate how ironic the situation is from a dogmatic point of view. Firebending comes from the breath, but he has none now. Conversely, earthbending takes his breath away.

She resumes breathing normally, and he splutters and gags as his lungs fill again. It's becoming clearer by the second that she can keep this up forever. Him? Not so much.

"You may be wondering what the point of interrogating you is if you cannot even draw breath to spill your secrets," Long Niu says, returning to the fore to face him. She shows him the jade pin in her hand. "Open your mouth."

He recoils from the object presented to his lips, and for the first time, a shadow of irritation darkens her eyes. With sure hands, she pries his mouth open, inserting the pin to rest horizontally and firmly closing his jaw over it.

"If you feel like talking, drop the pin, and I will listen. If you break it, or if you drop it and refuse to speak, the ring gets even tighter. It's your choice," she tells him, her eyes promising only horrific sincerity. "I need to get some meditation in. You'll be alright, won't you?"

LLL

He watches in silent horror as she walks over to the wall and sits down against it, cross-legged and showing every intention of settling in for a long meditation session. She looks so innocent and child-like, between the sprightly ponytail and a wide headband crossing her forehead and the round swell of full cheeks pale in the dimness of the cell; it's easy to forget that she is the one directly responsible for the agony biting into his abdomen, starving his lungs of air and forcing him to fight for every breath.

The war has opened his eyes to the darkness of humanity, but he has never experienced anything worse than this, bolted to the ground like an animal, straining for breath, possessing no more dignity than an exhausted ostrich-horse with a bit in its mouth. After the initial panic of not being able to control his air intake, Lu Ten slowly manages to regulate his breaths and match them to each one of Long Niu's, so that he inhales when the band is loose and exhales when it tightens. It never relaxes to a degree that is quite comfortable, and with every passing moment, he feels as if his lungs will be cut off entirely from their supply.

Across the room, Long Niu remains true to her word, eyes closed, motionless and completely absorbed in whatever mindfulness exercises she subscribes to. Hands on her knees resting palm up, her torso rises and falls rhythmically, respirations totally calm and measured.

 _Stay calm,_ he tells his racing heart. _Fear will only make things worse._

How _can_ things get any worse, though? He's trapped here deep beneath the waters of Lake Laogai without any hope of rescue, at the mercy of a man who makes it a competition between his students as to who can successfully mine the wealth of Lu Ten's inside take on his nation's forthcoming battle plans. His knowledge is not insignificant, after all. There are plenty of things he can tell the Dai Li that would tip the balance of the war in favor of the Earth Kingdom, but he cannot give them up, not even at the cost of his own life. If he were to speak so freely, the spirits of those who died defending him and serving the Fire Nation, would run cold, their lives sacrificed in vain. No, he will not speak.

He closes his eyes, mimicking Long Niu, and meditates on his own soul. He now carries the weight of those myriad souls who died in the service of the 18th regiment, and he will not let them be forgotten. Some five hundred-odd names, but every single one will be venerated in his mind, starting with his original company.

Hours pass. The pin in his mouth seems to weigh more than its slight breadth would suggest, and his lips tire from curling around it. He has gone through four iterations of the entire regiment, and Long Niu has not stirred once. He resumes the 18th company once more, dredging up the names from his memory in a studied rhythm to match his tortured breaths.

Xinran, Xinbo, Xinrong

He shifts the pin to rest between his teeth, but he dares not relax his jaw for fear of clenching too hard and breaking it.

Tu, Ao, Zhangwei

Saliva pools under his tongue, but he cannot swallow it down.

Yin, Yang, Tuanyuan

His breathing is all the more labored for not being able breathe in through his mouth as freely as he would like.

Wok, Saucer, Arrow

His knees and arms ache from being held in their places for so long. Surely his reprieve must come soon—Long Niu cannot meditate all day.

Piao, Yao, Shang

One foot starts to cramp, trapped beneath him in such an unnatural position. His breaths stutter and stumble in their pace as the muscle spasms and he starts to panic. He loses his rhythm, the pain in his foot and the lack of oxygen building up, gradually mounting in his brain until he is choking for breath, struggling to catch even the slightest pocket of air between his tortured lungs. Still, he holds on to the pin even though his lips are stiff and nearly bloodless in their strained grip.

Long Niu opens her eyes at the sounds of his predicament. Perhaps now, he can rest.

"Do you feel like talking?" Her tone is kindly and sweet. He doesn't grace her with an answer, too busy regaining his breath.

"To earthbend is to endure," she tells him conversationally. "Take your time. I can wait. I have all night, too." She sighs. "And here I was looking forward to my bed after a long day's work."

He watches in disbelief as she rearranges her position without a second glance at him, elevating a low stone pillow from the floor to rest her head and lying back as comfortable as can be. "Sweet dreams."

There is no way he will be able to sleep like this. She really intends to run him into the ground with this.

Tsan, Sang, Ming Qian

 _I will not give in._

Songzhen, Songtao, Kongming

 _I will not give in._

Ren, Kai, Jianghui

 _I cannot._

The ring's cycle of contraction and relaxation slows considerably as Long Niu enters the realm of sleep, but Lu Ten can never relax entirely, not with that cold band resting under his ribs, a constant uncomfortable reminder of his predicament. He tries to draw his thoughts elsewhere and focus on something else to distract himself, even as his mind begins to muddle and haze from lack of oxygen.

 _I cannot give in. For all their sakes._

He is down to the last few members of the 18th, but one name, he purposefully avoids reciting.

 _I told him to keep on living for me, but against such odds… how could he not break that oath?_

* * *

 **LONG FENG**

As Niu- _er_ shuts her eyes once more, Long Feng watches the panorama from high above, unseen by any below.

Perhaps Lu Ten was born into the wrong nation. His endurance, after all, far outstrips that of any prisoner they have had cause to use such measures on. Under other circumstances, Niu- _er's_ glacial, obdurate pace might yield results, but not here. She does not have the gall to strike directly where it will hurt most, and they do not have the time to waste with her methods.

Fight fire with fire—Shu- _er_ should have more success in that regard.

* * *

 **LONG NIU**

She wakes to the sound of shallow, labored breaths. With some disappointment, she notes that Lu Ten still has not dropped the pin.

"Good morning," she says, not expecting a response. She looks up, sensing a presence by the doorway.

"Sister." It's Agent Ge, holding a bowl of jook. "Master has me on babysitting duty. _Again._ I do one thing wrong…"

Long Niu laughs lightly. "He's harsh on you because he knows you can bring yourself to adhere to higher standards. Trust me, I would know." She frowns at the bowl. "Did he specifically say the prisoner has to eat once a day, as is the norm?"

Ge cocks his head, his plaintive, thin eyebrows furrowed in consideration. "…no? It's just routine. Master wouldn't bother himself with such trivial matters."

"Indeed, he wouldn't. Bring it here, then."

Ge hands her the bowl but startles as she lifts it to her lips. "But, sister _,_ that's just plain jook! If you're hungry, I can get you something that actually has some flavor…"

She shakes her head, gesturing with her chin towards where Lu Ten kneels, band still cinched above his waist. The long hours of the night have not been kind to him. His posture is crumbling, and his upper body keels forward without the strength to keep him vertical. That can't be easy on his crumpled lungs, but it looks like he's in no condition to even struggle on that front.

"Thank you, but I'm fine," she says firmly. He nods and turns to leave as soon as she thinks of something. "Actually, tell Long Shu not to waste too much time formulating her strategy. I might be done here before she even has the chance to work her magic."

He flinches at the mention of their eldest disciple-sister. "Do I have to? She's so scary. Every time I talk to her, it's like she's staring right into my soul and pulling the words out of my mouth before I've even thought them in my mind."

She purses her lips, both out of amusement and exasperation. "Ge- _er,_ you're nineteen, almost twenty. There's no need to be afraid of her. She's not going to play any mind games on you; go on."

He slouches out, still mournful about the news he has to deliver, or more specifically, the one he has to deliver it to.

She returns her attention to Lu Ten, putting the bowl down. She'd sent Agent Ge off with a message of confidence, more confidence than she truly feels. But the prisoner before her might as well be made of stone for all the secrets he still guards so faithfully.

"I think it's time we stepped things up a notch, no?"

* * *

 **LU TEN**

It hurts.

 _It hurts so much_ —he wouldn't have expected it to, at first. Lu Ten has suffered many wounds over the years, bruises and lacerations, burns and stab wounds, sprained wrists, muscle tears, blows to the head, and worse. Throughout all of this, Long Niu has done nothing to actively hurt him, has hardly even touched him, but his own body and its need for oxygen betray him.

 _gods why can't it just be over_

It was hard enough for him with the ever-constricting crystal band, but now Long Niu has him pinned to the wall of the cell, dangling ten feet off the ground. With his arms secured above his head, his own weight pulls him down, straining the muscles in his torso, keeping his lungs from filling completely. His feet are not restrained; he can walk them up the wall a little bit to brace his upper body behind him, but only for so long, until the muscles of his thighs weaken and give out.

He does not know how much time has passed like this—one day? Two? Every cell in his body cries out for air, for sustenance. His legs shake with the effort of holding himself up until they can persist no longer, and his body hangs limply from the wall. He cannot feel his feet; he cannot feel his arms. He is as a body suspended in darkness, unattached, unknowing of anything but its own existence, and even that is questionable. A pitiable thing, all told.

"You don't have to suffer like this." Long Niu's voice reaches him from a distance. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

 _Why do we do any and all of the things that we do?_ The thought is a dim echo of the life that he must have had before this torment.

It must have existed, right? That life. He can't remember it now.

A weight around his feet stretches out the length of his body even more torturously. His overextended arms ache and twinge, a sharp pain shooting through his shoulders, and he would scream but for the pin still wedged in his mouth. He can't drop it, or the pain will get even worse.

 _Who are you kidding? It can't get worse than this._ He lets the pin drop. It tinkles on the ground like a bell that signals nothing but death.

"Do you want to tell me anything?" Long Niu inquires. Though she stands before him, he cannot see her, whether because his brain no longer has enough oxygen to supply his eyes, or because his eyes are closed, he does not know. He cannot feel his eyelids, nor his eyeballs in their sockets, nor his lips, which remain resolutely shut. He does not have even the strength to shake his head, but Long Niu takes his silence as a refusal.

Instantly, the weight pulling him down intensifies, like it's trying to wrench his arms out of their joints and dragging him into an abyss of unrelenting pain. He screams now, a horrible sound that barely translates as such to his fading hearing, a hoarse scratch of air through brittle, dry vocal cords.

 _please, no more_

* * *

 **LONG NIU**

If even dislocating his arms doesn't work, she doesn't know what will. This is not how it's supposed to go. She stares up at the broken body hanging from the wall. He has not eaten nor slept in three days, and he looks as disheveled and un-put together as she feels inside: hair falling out of its bun, strands sticking to the side of his face, sticky with cold sweat, his skin an unhealthy ashen-grey.

For her own part, Long Niu cannot say she feels particularly exultant at his state. She has nothing to report, despite unleashing her creativity to inflict such pain and discomfort.

 _Why won't he give in? What am I doing wrong?_

Behind her, the door opens. "Time's up, sister. I'll take over from here."

Long Niu turns around as her disciple-sister steps into the cell, her expression crumbling into shame and guilt as she realizes that Long Shu has come to the same conclusion as she has: she is not competent enough for their master's approval. "Sister, I…" She hesitates, not knowing what to say. "I tried."

"I know you did," Long Shu says soothingly. She reaches her disciple-sister's side and takes one hand in a reassuring clasp. "The bravest of men would have long since given in to your persuasion, but this one is something else altogether. You don't have to do this alone."

With a decisive slash of her long fingers, she looses the figure dangling forlornly from the wall, rattling breaths coming in an irregular pattern, and he crumples, utterly spent. Long Niu shudders at the sound of him crashing to the ground like so much deadweight. Long Shu spreads one hand wide, and the alabaster ring cutting off his circulation at the waist expands, letting him breathe freely and allowing the band to slip over his head. She returns it to its normal size and picks up both ring and hairpin discarded on the ground.

"I know you don't enjoy this part of what we do, Niu- _er._ " Coming back to Long Niu's side, she carefully threads her ponytail through the circlet and tightens it to fit snugly around her hair. The pin goes in the side, and she twists it until it meets enough resistance to sit secure on top of her head. "But you must not lose faith. Our master may be displeased, but you are still one of his dearest disciples. He needs you."

She brushes a stray thread away from the younger girl's eyes, and Long Niu smiles, the motion curling through the wide curve of her cheeks.

"You're too kind to me, sister. I don't understand how Agent Ge and the others fear you so much."

Long Shu casts her gaze at the huddle of agonized flesh in the corner, where she is due to begin her work. "For the same reason he will come to fear me: because I have no cause to show mercy."

* * *

 **A/N:** Chapter notes on Long Niu's character and a bit of medical insight: archiveofourown dot org/works/7019827/chapters/15978724


	16. The Greatest Change

**A/N:** This chapter has been in the works for a long time. According to my notes, the final scene was first drafted on September 10th, 2016, World Suicide Prevention Day, while listening to "The Last Goodbye" from the final Hobbit movie soundtrack. Give it a listen; it's a lot more uplifting than the title suggests. It's a very heavy chapter, but I'm quite pleased with how it came together, at last. More notes to come at the end.

 **TW: suicidal ideation.**

* * *

 **LU TEN**

Another agent is now in charge, Long Shu, he surmises through the haze of pain that makes it difficult to retain information. What new torture does she have prepared for him? He lies where he fell, arms extended overhead, hurting incredibly even in his resting position. He tries to maintain some awareness of what is to come, but again, his body fails him. His arms aren't working, courtesy of Long Niu vigorously ripping them out of their sockets, and he can't even muster the core strength to roll onto his back without their help.

"Dislocated shoulders? Niu- _er_ really did try her best, then." Long Shu sounds amused, her approach paced and ominous. "That won't do, though. You'll be too focused on the pain to talk."

He jolts in agony as she lays one hand on his shoulder, and he can feel the bone completely out of its socket, rendering his arm all but useless. Long Shu doesn't react, hm'ing thoughtfully as she prods at his other shoulder.

"Well, there's nothing for it." Finished with her inspection, she rolls him over to lie supine, and he sees her up close for the first time. She's not at all like Long Niu: paler, wraithlike with gaunt cheekbones, a thin smile on her lips and frost in her front-set, almost protuberant eyes. He wonders whether he should be more afraid but dismisses the thought. He is long past the point of fear now.

"It'll be easier to do this without you awake and fighting me." She looms over him, peering down at his paralyzed body, her expression exquisitely detached. He tries to relax in advance of the pain that he knows is coming, and then…

LLL

He opens his eyes, a process much longer than normal; his eyelids feel like they've been sandpapered raw. His head aches, both generally from days on end of oxygen deprivation and locally at his forehead where Long Shu knocked him out. With some relief, he notes that his arms aren't locked overhead anymore. He manages himself to maneuver himself into a sitting position, but pain still lances from his shoulders all the way to his fingertips. The door opens, and on instinct, he shrinks away as Long Shu enters.

"You're awake."

He resists the urge to spit back "Obviously", not knowing how she will react. She smiles tightly, as if she knows what he's just withheld.

"Hungry?" She's carrying a bowl, and it really does smell nice, but he forces himself not to react, staying silent all the while.

"Don't try to be heroic. I'm going to see you at your worst, your very lowest point no matter what, so don't concern yourself with what I think of you. Just eat."

She holds the bowl out, then seems to think better of it as she notices the awkward way he's leaned over his knees, trying to avoid putting any weight on his injured arms. Sitting down beside him, she stirs the jook methodically with a spoon. Steam blossoms from its surface with a subtly fragrant aroma. He turns his face away from the brimming spoonful she offers.

She sighs. "This can be easy, or this can be very difficult. You can open your mouth and accept this sustenance that will keep you alive, or you can refuse, and I can hold your mouth open and force it down your throat. Your choice."

Lu Ten weighs his options. It's largely his dignity holding him back; food is food, no matter how it gets into his stomach, and he knows he needs to eat unless he wants to die a slow and exhausting death.

 _That, though, is not completely out of the question,_ he thinks sourly as he opens his mouth.

Long Shu spoons in a hot mouthful, her movements small and measured, careful not to spill a drop. He avoids her eyes as he chews slowly, cooling the jook before swallowing. He's surprised at how fortifying that one bite is, warming his insides and letting him relax a little.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it? You don't even have to do any work." Long Shu is ready with the next mouthful to his lips already. He takes it, ignoring her patronizing tone. It's typical jailer talk, trying to wear their charges down with humiliation through infantilization. Infuriating though it is to be fed by someone who isn't a loved one or at least a loyal subordinate, he can weather this. To what end, though… who knows.

"Oh look, they even added some sweet potatoes for you." She inclines her head at his lack of reaction at the bright-orange morsels, peering up at his downcast expression as if through her eyelashes. No disappointment slips through her visage, though. "Aren't you glad Long Niu didn't put her circlet around your neck? This would be much harder to eat with damage to your windpipe. You really should thank her the next time you see her."

He would roll his eyes if he could spare the energy. Thank his torturer for not making his experience worse than it could have been? _I'll pass, thanks._ The sweet potato is tender and mashes itself to slush under his tongue, a pleasing contrast to the plain jook.

Long Shu continues stirring the bowl, lifting another spoonful and pouring the excess liquid back. As he finishes the next mouthful, she purses her lips in thought, frowning at the ground, then brightens. "Since you don't want to talk, let me tell you a story."

She turns to put the half-empty bowl down away from them. Idly, he notes how her hair is wound in a long, elegant braid piled in broad loops at the back of her head, a marked contrast from Long Niu's simple ponytail. The free end, unbraided, is secured by a large silver clip and pinned into place on top. As she turns back to him, he quickly schools his expression back into studied disinterest, which she disregards in favor of beginning her story.

"As a child, I lived in a small coastal village north of Ba Sing Se. War tore through our home when I was six, or seven, I forget. You know the drill; I'm sure you were there often enough. So many people died defending their families, including my parents. Somehow, I made it to the city, swept along in an unquenchable tide of refugees."

He closes his eyes, fists at his sides making a weak attempt at clenching. He's seen the picture she describes before.

"I was just a small, weak girl, not much good for earning her keep through manual labor. I had started earthbending already, but at my level, it was hardly a bankable skill. I barely survived my first few days in the city. It's not an ideal place for a little girl to be all alone without anyone to protect her."

He tracks her fingers as they tuck the strands of her sparse fringe behind one ear: anything to distract himself from the miserable story playing out in his mind. Against his will, he thinks about a young Zuko and how he might have fared if he had been in her place—likely no better.

"Eventually I discovered something else I was good at: stealing. At first it was just food. I'd create a distraction with earthbending, throwing rocks or something, and make off with enough to fill my belly. Soon I grew bolder, though, and greedier. I sneaked into the Middle Ring, where life was a little better, and a shop selling expensive jewelry and jade ornaments caught my eye. They were just sitting there on display by the street, the shopkeeper dozing off in the shade. I was young, and I didn't know better. In hindsight, if I had tried to sell a pretty piece snatched from the shop for money, I would immediately have been exposed as a thief. After all, how could a little street urchin like me possess such riches?"

She pauses, watching his lips twitch minutely at that, as if in amusement despite his dire situation.

"I noticed three older boys hanging out near the shop, too. I say boys, but they were maybe fourteen or fifteen, old enough to be learning their own trades, yet there they were, wasting time loitering. They had the same idea as me, and I realized I could use that to my advantage. With my old tricks, I caused a ruckus, upturning displays and scattering wares everywhere, and the boys were in a position that made it look like they had caused it, while I got away with handfuls of trinkets. It was the perfect heist for a six-year-old, until they caught up to me, anyways. They weren't happy that I framed them and suffice to say, I'd have been dead in an alley that day if not for a distraction in the form of my dear Niu- _er_."

It takes him a moment to realize who she's referring to, the cold stone of her face warping into such fondness that he almost forgets what she's here for. In the end, this whole story is just some ploy to get him to give in. How, he does not know, but he must resist it.

"Niu- _er_ and I are actually the same age, though later we figured out that I'm older by two months. What possessed her tender, young self, mouth still full of milk teeth, to approach that gang of hooligans with a paring knife—not even a proper knife meant for stabbing—in defense of a complete stranger, I will never know. She always maintains that 'it was the right thing to do', but so is 'not framing other people for your petty theft'. In any case, her efforts were in vain. Imagine a couple of mosquitoes buzzing around three platypus bears: annoying but irrelevant and easily wiped out."

He perceives the direction this story is taking, but if that's supposed to make him more sympathetic and willing to betray his country… not going to happen.

"That was when Long Feng stepped in. I suppose he must have seen some qualities he valued in us that day, otherwise why would he have intervened? The heavens know this kind of thing happens in Ba Sing Se every day, but he remains unmoved. To keep a long story short, Long Feng saved us both and adopted us as his disciples. That was sixteen years ago now. He trained us in earthbending and in stealth, in manipulation and in service to the Earth King.

"The Dai Li existed long before Long Feng became their head, but we were the first that he trained as his personal disciples. Over time, he recruited more children, raising them to become an elite force that controls every wheel and cog of the machine that is Ba Sing Se. No one speaks of the war; the Earth King doesn't even know there's been one going on for a hundred years. It is imperative for us to maintain peace in the city."

 _So the Earth King is a puppet, a mere figurehead who sits on the throne while Long Feng truly rules the city._

Long Shu picks up the bowl again. Its contents are more liquid than rice at this point, cooling rapidly. Lu Ten puts up no resistance as she holds out another spoonful. He senses that her story is not yet over.

"Niu- _er_ thinks we exist for the good of the Earth Kingdom. She is laughably straightforward in that way; she believes in absolute good and evil. Maybe that's why she jumped in to help me, a hapless child suffering disproportionate retribution at the hands of those older and stronger. In her eyes, we are righteous, and the righteous will have their reward. It came as no surprise to me that she was so distraught when she failed with you." The stretch of her pale lips is vindictive and cool, more of a grimace than a pleasant smile. "It challenged her conception of herself as a noble servant of the Earth King. You, the party of evil, prevailed over her, the party of good. In that sense, you gave as good as you got when it came to hurting her."

Lu Ten startles on a sudden inhale, aspirating rice water and coughing violently to clear his throat. _You've got to be kidding me._ Mildly shocked at her preposterous statement, he answers her against his better inclination. "Are you saying _I'm_ to blame for Long Niu losing her composure?"

Long Shu shrugs. "It sounds silly when you say it like that, but what does it matter? It won't work with me." She cocks her head and looks at Lu Ten with large, unblinking eyes the color of spring's first tea buds. "I'm not here to make a pretense at serving the Earth King or bettering our nation. I know that we can do neither. I'm here because of my debt to my master. I owe him my life, and as a result, I must be willing to do whatever he commands, good or evil.

"Which one of us do you more resemble, Lu Ten?"

 _So that was the point of this whole long ramble_ , he thinks tiredly. _She wants me to empathize, to get into my head—no, she's already there._

"If you must ask," he says, his words thick and slow, "I think you already know."

Long Shu gets to her feet, laying the bowl down next to him and quietly standing at a distance of two paces, observing him. "You're quick. I appreciate that." She begins to circle him, looking down at her silent footsteps on the stone floor instead of over at him. He attempts to follow her steps, but his head already feels faint enough without going in circles.

"I serve my master, Long Feng, head of the Dai Li. You serve your grandfather, Fire Lord Azulon, and to what end? He sent you to fight in an endless war where death is little more than a coin toss away."

He remembers a gap-toothed old village grouch up north, the night of their first victorious battle, asking him, "What's the Fire Lord mean to you?" Back then, he had no answer, and now? Still nothing.

"Why do you still cling to your misplaced loyalty? You know the Fire Nation's war is not just. Why do you blindly follow its leaders, masters of death and destruction, when your heart knows better?"

He remembers a master who once told him to listen to his true heart and not let it be swayed by obligate patriotism.

"You have already let the scales tip too far out of your favor. Think of how you let your nation down in the last battle, missing its best chance to bring down the wall. Think of how you failed your commander, your father General Iroh. Think of how many men died to save you."

 _Believe me, I could not forget them if I tried._

"Think of the Dragon of the East that you once were, your armor now scattered across a riven battlefield. Someone bore it hence, far from where you lay on your deathbed. Someone gave their life for you."

 _Least of all him._ Hanxin is dead. He dreaded as much.

"Think of all the soldiers who still strive without purpose to topple the greatest city in the world. We need a definitive strategy to defeat the Fire Nation for good. If we can just force their retreat from the wall, the war can end, and neither side need lose any more lives. Yet we remain locked in stalemate, and your countrymen are all throwing themselves away for nothing.

 _I know. I know._ He has known this from the beginning, though he almost always managed to tamp down that overwhelming sensation of futility, but now, it threatens to rise up and pull him under.

"Would you repay their good will with evil? You have the power to stop this war and end this wanton loss of life, and yet you do _nothing_." She grits out these last words as if they pain her to utter, as if the wedge she drives into his heart originates from her own.

 _Stop. Stop, stop,_ he thinks frantically. _I can't… as a citizen of the Fire Nation, I_ cannot…

… _but as a citizen of the world, I must._

He opens his mouth to speak.

"If you require further persuasion…" Long Shu is standing behind him and does not seem to have noticed. "You need not fear any retribution from your father, the Dragon of the West. He has already left the Earth Kingdom, too overcome with regret for your demise, and given up the war entirely. You can no more be considered a traitor to the Fire Nation than he can."

What passes his lips then does not consist of any intelligible speech, nor indeed any sound that he can identify. All he knows is that his entire body is shaking, his core aches, his ribs twinge, pushed past their limit, his jaws ache as they're stretched wide open, issuing forth a terrible sound. It starts as a low murmur, a guttural undercurrent, morphing and rising slowly in volume and pitch until it is an unrestrained stream of maniacal laughter, an unworldly tide to defy all reason and logic. If he could see himself, he would cringe away in fear; even Long Shu steps backwards a couple paces. But he is lost, lost to the fit of transport that takes him out of his mind, for the briefest moment. He cannot escape reality for long.

The minutes ebb by, and gradually it fades, slowed like the broadening of a river at its mouth, the sea yawning wide before it and swallowing it into homogenous silence. All that remains are his tortured breaths, too fast and too shallow, his chest rising in spastic peaks with the exertion.

Long Shu looks at him questioningly. At last, he gathers himself to speak, his voice grainy and streaked with revulsion.

"You think that's what I'm afraid of? Bringing shame to my father by betraying my country." He shakes his head, the motion deliberate and self-mocking. "No, there is nothing I can now do to make him less proud of his son. You should know, in that last battle, it was on his orders that my men faced an enemy force well beyond their capacity to endure. That alone should tell you everything about his regard for my life," he says.

Long Shu says nothing, only continuing to regard him with an unshakeable gaze.

"To tell you the truth, I'm relieved to hear that he has given up the war. If he were to remain, I doubt Ba Sing Se could prevail against him even if I gave you every advantage I have." He sighs, all conviction seeming to leave him in that gust of breath. "What do you want to know?"

* * *

 **LONG SHU**

"I'll let you get some rest now," she says when she has finished emptying his mind of everything he can offer on the Fire Nation's military resources and strategies. There is not a shred of evidence on her expression to suggest her victory. Her eyes remain placid and lightless like uncarved jade, and the flat line of her lips refuse to give way to an exultant smile. "Your body should be recovered enough to let your mind dream tonight. Take respite where you can."

She leaves his cell and closes the door quietly behind her. At last, a moment to herself.

Or not. Frankly, she is not surprised to see Long Feng headed in her direction from the far end of the hallway. He is a patient man, but Niu- _er_ has tested his limits. They need to act quickly if they are to make use of Lu Ten's information.

"You have done well," he says. He does not need to ask in order to determine whether she has succeeded. One glance suffices.

"That is not all I can do." The answer is ready on her lips. "He is not broken until he exhausts his purpose. There is more I can learn from him."

Long Feng nods approvingly. She has always been one to adhere to the letter of his command, and he expects no less of her. "See that you do."

* * *

 **LU TEN**

For the next few days, Long Shu does not visit him, and Lu Ten wonders if she is already satisfied with the information she has extracted. He has nothing more of value to give her, having told her everything, about the drill, about General Bujing's strategies and style of command, about Colonel Shinu who will probably be promoted to General now that Iroh is gone, even what little he knows of the Eastern fleet, headed by Admiral Chan and his adjutant, Commander Zhao, a notable threat in their own right.

He sleeps for long stretches of time; the hours are meaningless here. Twice, there is food waiting for him when he wakes. The ache in his arms lessens gradually; though his range of motion is still limited, he is at least able to hold the bowl to his mouth without his hands shaking. He eats out of habit, not out of hunger.

He dreams at length, the shadows of the past drifting behind his eyelids like clouds on a wintry sky. He finds himself transported back in time to the day Zuko first learned to firebend, watching from the outside as if he is a stranger to the events unfolding before him.

He sends Zuko off to buy himself some fire flakes, gold coin in hand, and in hindsight, he shakes his head ruefully. It was his lack of sense that led to what transpired later that night. A village as poor as Hira'a wouldn't have cause to use gold coin. Any transactions would have been conducted via exchange of silver or copper grade, or even barter. Zuko's currency would have attracted attention, especially as he managed to stretch it out so much, a young master enjoying himself in rustic delights without a care as to who might be watching with greed in their hearts.

The bandits attack, and his swords are true and quick as they fly through the air, slicing tendons and veins—but not quick enough. Their attackers lie fallen, but so does Zuko, a silver-handled blade protruding from his abdomen, the same place Lu Ten was wounded.

"No, _no_ …" He collapses to Zuko's side. How could he have let this happen? " _Zuko_ …"

His hands scrabble helplessly at the wound. He cannot pull the blade out and risk exsanguinating Zuko on the spot. Neither can he move Zuko to somewhere safe nor leave his bleeding cousin alone as he runs to get help, as far as they are from the nearest house. He wants to cry from the impossibility of his situation, but Zuko smiles serenely up at him.

"Don't worry, cousin." His voice is steady for all that he is losing blood volume by the moment. "I'll be fine. I'm the Avatar, after all. I'll just reincarnate."

"The Avatar?" Lu Ten asks, shocked out of his misery. "How… what do you mean?"

There is no answer; Zuko is already fading from his eyes, and the scene dissolves into blessed consciousness, all the horrors of his dreams left behind in the realm of sleep.

LLL

He blinks, disoriented for a moment, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. The straw of his pallet rustles as he shifts, trying to ground himself in wakefulness. He had dreamed, a frequent nightmare of his, but the details are always lost as soon as he wakes. His shaky breaths are the only sound in a too-empty room until the silence is broken by someone else.

"Who's Zuko?"

He freezes at the sudden interjection and sits up to see Long Shu crouching by the far wall to his fore, eyes aglow with curiosity and an innocent question.

"You talk in your sleep," she says by way of explanation, as if it is perfectly normal for her as his jailer to watch over his slumber and be privy to the words he shares in his most vulnerable moments. He might have expected it.

"What did I say?" he asks, resigned to hearing the worst, that he spilled everything about his cousin back home.

"Nothing, really." Long Shu rocks forward slightly on her heels, the loops of her braids swinging forward as she does. She inches to her feet; it seems she's been there for a while. "Only the name Zuko, and something about the Avatar." She walks over to sit by him, her keen eyes dissecting his responses. "Are you acquainted with the Avatar of the Fire Nation?"

He shakes his head. "No," he says after a short pause, the space of two breaths. It doesn't occur to him to lie; there is no use here. "These things aren't made public by the Fire Sages until the Avatar turns sixteen. Even the Fire Lord may not know."

Long Shu assesses him with a loaded silence. Her fingers curl around a loop of braid, restless with a mind of their own, contrasting with her calm demeanor.

"Interesting," is all she says in response. "You sounded worried when you said the name Zuko. Who is Zuko to you?"

* * *

 **LONG SHU**

"It's none of your business."

He really looks like he wants to resist, lips pressed together in mute defiance, but she keeps staring, prompting him. People generally don't utter the names of random strangers in their sleep; if Zuko is important enough to visit Lu Ten's dreams, then it is her business to know who and what he is. Chances are, he wants to talk about this person, to reminisce on pleasant memories far removed from the bitterness of his current circumstances. She has patience.

Sure enough, he sighs out a wan breath of defeat. "He's my cousin, that's all."

"That doesn't sound like all there is to it."

"He's nine years younger than me, just learned to firebend a few years ago. I taught him myself," he says proudly.

"A little protégé? That's rather sweet," she teases.

"I suppose," he concedes not so reluctantly. "The joy of learning is infectious, especially in one so young and bright. We learned the way of the sword together, and starting when he was four, I taught him his characters—not all of them, but enough to give him a head start and let his mother catch a break. And before that, I taught him to make flower chains in the royal gardens; I don't think his father was too pleased about that…"

She listens with half an ear and mostly her eyes as he talks about Zuko, his adorable young cousin, son of Prince Ozai, General Iroh's younger brother. From the sound of it, their bond is as strong as if they were brothers, and Lu Ten would surely give his cousin the moon if it were his to give. Long Shu knows the feeling well; Niu- _er_ is only the person on earth who means more to her than anything else, just like a little sister for whom she would sacrifice anything. She watches as his eyes gradually glint with barely suppressed fondness as he recalls the past, the birth of his cousin eleven years ago, all the time he spent with Zuko before the war, and the letters they exchanged during Lu Ten's absence.

She gathers that there is a second cousin, a girl, the twin of Zuko, but Lu Ten doesn't have much to say for her. Prodigiously talented, far more favored by their father than her brother is, and lightning bright in her acuity and wit. Long Shu finds it curious, how they're like a mirror image of herself and Niu _-er,_ with their master of course tending to favor Long Shu.

It's no great deal, though. They are good sisters, and if the Dai Li pass to Long Shu's control, she will still have Niu- _er_ by her side to govern what remains of the Earth Kingdom. The odds are looking better thanks to Lu Ten's information, and she lets slip a small smile reflecting his own, his expression transfixed with a serendipitous cheer granted by the thought of his young cousin.

There remains the matter of the Avatar, though. She thinks back to his response to her question, replaying that moment in her mind. Based on Long Shu's experiences in interrogation, there are three ways this can play out:

1) He truly does not know who the Avatar is. This is most likely, but something tells Long Shu that this is not the case. It's too much of a coincidence that the Avatar should come up, unbidden, in his dreams.

2) He knows who the Avatar is and wishes to conceal it, but people tend to answer 'no' more quickly, often comically so, when they have something to hide, as if the speed with which they dissemble will save them.

3) He knows who the Avatar is, but he does not know that he knows, that is, he only knows it subconsciously. He paused before answering, long enough that if he were more relaxed, the truth might have come to the fore of his mind instead of whatever dark recesses it currently occupies.

Whatever the truth is, Zuko and the Avatar are somehow interrelated, however unaware he is of that fact. She is close to unraveling it; she must step lightly here. Lu Ten's tells are clear and easy to discern, and for that, she rejoices. It will only take a little finesse to unpack what she believes he knows. During a lull in his reminiscing, his face still flooded with the minute comfort of his cousin's memory, she chooses her moment to strike.

"The Avatar was born eleven years ago, on the last day of the seventh month," she tells him. "We have very accurate records of the date, thanks to eyewitness accounts of the Air Nomads' last stand at the Southern Air Temple. With Avatar Tenzin's death, the cycle would have resumed in the Fire Nation. Does that clarify anything for you?"

He gazes at her, bemused. "No, why would it?"

She waits, somberly holding his gaze all the while, until she sees the change behind his eyes. A widening of disbelief, crinkling in shock, and finally locked, unblinking, in horror. Perfect.

* * *

 **LU TEN**

It can't be. It can't—she's playing tricks with his mind, that must be it.

His memories roll backwards in time like a scroll spilling from a table, its contents on display for all to see: the day of Zuko and Azula's birth.

 _His father had brought him to visit Aunt Ursa a few hours after the twins' delivery. She greets him, exhausted but glad to see him, and at her bedside, nine-year-old Lu Ten lays eyes on his sleeping cousins for the first time._

 _Swaddled in matching white cloths in their mother's arms, each no longer than a loaf of bread, they're honestly rather difficult to tell apart. His aunt helpfully indicates which one is which: on her left, her daughter Azula, and on her right, her son Zuko._

 _"Would you like to hold them?"_

 _He freezes in nervous excitement, unsure if he is allowed to take on such a mature task. He looks back at his father, who is inexplicably not interested in the newborns and instead is engaged in deep conversation with Prince Ozai. Aunt Ursa smiles and offers Azula into his uncertain arms._

 _"Just make sure to support her head in the crook of your arm, and keep your other arm under her back, that's right," she encourages. It's not so difficult after all. Azula sleeps on, unheeding of the attention on her. He rocks her gently from side to side, and even as he starts to feel quite grown up, he becomes aware of the conversation going on behind him between his father and uncle._

 _"Simultaneous attacks on all four Air Temples concluded today," Ozai says, his voice quiet but with a boiling undercurrent, as if he finds the news to be extremely moving._

 _"A concerted attack, to prevent any refugees from escaping to another of their fortresses," Iroh remarks. "I suppose it was a wise strategy on the part of the Fire Lord." He sounds cautiously pleased but subdued._

 _Lu Ten decides he should probably share the love between the two twins and not monopolize Azula, and he hands the baby back to her mother. He makes to receive the other infant into his arms, but Ursa hesitates, seemingly reluctant to hand him over._

 _"Aunt Ursa…?"_

 _She smiles and shakes her head. "It's nothing. Here, this is your cousin Zuko."_

 _He scoops Zuko into his arms and cradles the tiny head like an expert as it lolls back in slumber. Their fathers continue to discuss matters unrelated to babies, matters that frankly sound quite unpleasant._

 _"There's no need to sound so restrained, brother." Ozai sounds positively elated. "Our nation's long-standing goal has been achieved. The Southern Air Temple is already in pieces, and Tenzin's death has been confirmed."_

 _One of Zuko's tiny hands is raised up by his head even in sleep, and Lu Ten lays his index finger against it. Automatically, the baby's reflex moves to grasp Lu Ten's finger, which is twice as long as the entire width of Zuko's hand. He marvels at how something so tiny is still able to survive, a living, breathing, independent being—it's amazing._

 _Aunt Ursa looks pensive, though, and he wonders if there's something amiss with Zuko that has her like this. He thinks he should probably hand Zuko back so that she doesn't worry and starts to hold him out._

 _"Then it is the start of a new era for our people," Iroh says. "The Avatar will return to the Fire Nation once more."_

 _Lu Ten startles, a dramatic jerk of his arms as he hears this—the Avatar? In the Fire Nation? But… wasn't the Avatar among the Air Nomads? However, his unexpected movement jolts his stable grasp, one arm slipping free of the infant's body and dangling Zuko in the curve of his left elbow only. Thankfully, Ursa is right beside him and quickly gathers the child, now awake and crying with vigor, up in her embrace again._

 _"I'm so sorry!" He really had been distracted by his father's declaration about the Avatar, but that's no excuse to drop a baby. "Aunt Ursa, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!"_

 _It's unclear if she even hears him over Zuko's strident bawling, and certainly his father and Prince Ozai can no longer continue their conversation in peace. His father ushers him out forthwith, and he leaves feeling decidedly less jubilant about his baby cousins._

At nine years of age, all he knew was what his father had told him of the current Avatar: a superhumanly powerful airbender who could control all four elements and bring peace to the world. He hadn't yet understood the cycle of reincarnation that the Avatar's rebirth entailed, and thus he'd never made the connection: Zuko and Azula were born on the same day that the Southern Air Temple fell to Fire Nation forces. The news would have been delayed for several hours thanks to the distance. It's not impossible for Avatar Tenzin to have died just as Zuko was born.

He doesn't know that it's Zuko, though. It could be Azula. Would Ozai and Ursa have known which twin was the Avatar? Would that explain their respective preferential treatment?

Perhaps this is what Ursa meant when she said that the mingled bloodlines of Roku and Sozin would be immensely powerful. But he has no answer to any of these questions. There's no way he can be certain, but one thing he is sure of: as long as there is a nonzero chance that either of his cousins is the Avatar, he will take the secret to the grave.

If Long Feng figures out who the Avatar might be, and Zuko and Azula are shipped out to the war in another six years, they will be hunted to no end. The Dai Li targeted Lu Ten, a minor officer, just on the basis of hearsay about the Dragon of the East, and they have kept him here for so long because of his role in his father's retirement. They seem to place a lot of stock in defending against potential future threats. They would tear the Fire Nation ranks apart to find the Avatar, and he cannot allow that fate upon his cousins.

"You've had some time to think; have you come to any realizations?"

He looks up at Long Shu, her shrewd eyes surveying him passively, but he knows that she is just waiting for him to give in and tell her what she thinks she already knows. He will not give her that satisfaction, though.

"Fuck you," he says baldly. Those who would hurt his loved ones does not deserve any courtesy. "If you aspire to play me like that, you should learn some proper technique. I've known men serving under me with a better ear for music."

She knows what he means; it is in the way her expression darkens, her eyebrows indent like storm clouds over fogging eyes, steamed with fury. She stalks closer, not taking care to gentle her footsteps as is her habit, and each step feels to him like the beat of a death march, bringing him closer to a last, desperate effort to protect those dearest to him. He will not give them up, not after he has already failed so many before them.

With one hand, Long Shu reaches out, and a pair of rock gloves leaps from her sleeve, fastening themselves tight around his neck, strong enough to bodily lift him from the ground, and here it is again. That sensation of choking and rampant airlessness, his struggle futile against the immovability of earth. His hands automatically go to his throat, tearing at the merciless constriction, but to no avail.

"Still a hero, I see," Long Shu says bitterly, one hand raised to hold him in the air. "I shouldn't be surprised. You've spent all these years believing yourself to be the golden boy of the Fire Nation army. You can't give it up, even this close to your end, O Azure Dragon."

 _Golden boy? Azure Dragon?_ He thinks incredulously through the last few moments afforded him by the rapidly increasing oxygen deficit. _Try again._ He thinks of every time his men doubted him in the beginning, every time Shinu tried to reign him in, every time his father cautioned him against the recklessness and rashness of his youth. No, he was never a golden boy—a black sheep, perhaps.

The last thing he sees before the darkness claims him is Long Shu's cold smile, triumphant though he has made no admission to her. Was it all in vain, then? Has he just confirmed what she already suspected? He has not the strength to know or to care anymore, at this point.

LLL

"When we hit our lowest point, we are open to the greatest change."

If he had the strength, he would scoff at his father's optimism. General Iroh was always hopeless in that regard. He's hit rock bottom, that's for sure. His life has changed beyond recognition already. Prince Lu Ten, Lieutenant Colonel and Dragon of the East, has been defeated. All his men lie slain on the battlefield. The one he loves died for him, died in vain. He'll never see home again, his father, his aunt, his cousin now doomed to grow up without him.

His mind is slipping. Soon it will no longer be his own, and then he will be Long Shu's plaything, to dissect as she pleases. He has already slipped once, losing control, thoughts empty but throat full of mindless laughter, and it frightens him more than he can admit to himself. But he cannot escape his tormenters; he will give into this fate whether he wills it or not. And when he does, he will betray those he must protect.

He touches his forehead to the wall. Its smoothness is cool and soothing, and a butterfly that somehow found its way into his cell yesterday (or was it before?) rests a few inches from his face. He stares at it blankly, noting the silver patterns spotted over its bright blue wings. It would be nice to fly away from here on feathery wings and leave this all behind.

Too late, he realizes, for the butterfly. It hasn't stirred in all the time he's been looking at it (minutes? Hours?) Its body is desiccated like an autumn leaf, and it takes him an eternity of effort to lift a finger to touch it. It drops to the floor at his side with a dry crackle, lifeless as the stone it perched on as it died.

 _"Butterflies change a great deal from the caterpillars they are born as," his father says. He edges a leaf towards an errant caterpillar in the box in nine-year-old Lu Ten's hands. "When they spin their cocoons and hide themselves away from the world, their bodies break down completely. They emerge entirely changed, beautiful and new, ready to face the world flying, no longer crawling. One day you'll do the same, my son."_

 _Weeks later, Lu Ten watches the butterflies emerge from their cocoons and marvels at their intricate new forms as they fly away._

 _Is this prison my cocoon, then? Will I emerge beautiful and changed?_ He looks back at the insect's crumpled shell and thinks of Shang, of the tale of the Butterfly Lovers. He's alive now, just barely, but nothing is more different than the two, life and death.

It is then that he understands. The greatest change… is death.

The Butterfly Lovers knew this too and readily accepted death as the only way for them to be together. Already, he feels light and free, floating away on gossamer wings. How could he not have seen it sooner? It won't be easy, but it won't be impossible either. He can get what he needs; he just needs to ask the right person. Death calls like a joyful fountain, like silver streams flowing through his veins, changing him forever, liberating him from this place.

He thanks the memory of his father and Aunt Ursa's knowledge, lovingly passed down to him. Finally, _finally,_ they will allow him to rejoin his beloved, fallen in battle beyond these walls but not so far away now. They will rise from the grave, together once again, to fly away from this ironically named gift called life.

He doesn't think of his cousin.

* * *

 **A/N:** I often see a lot of posts about suicide with miles-long lists of numbers to call, but phone calls make me very anxious, so I thought I would post about a service called Crisis Text Line. Text HOME to 741741 (686868 in Canada), and a trained crisis volunteer will respond promptly and professionally. Obviously, crisis text support can't solve every issue, but they can connect you with resources to help with many things, including abuse, stress/anxiety, homelessness, substance addiction, eating disorders, grief/bereavement, bullying, and LGBTQ-specific resources. It's not just for suicide prevention, because people don't just wake up one day and want to kill themselves. It's a long string of stresses and mental health issues that slowly bring you down, and if you can stop the downward spiral before it starts, you will be better off in the end.

I can't say that I have ever been actively suicidal, but it's definitely something that has crossed my mind more often than is healthy, especially when I was applying to medical school, and I never sought any help for it, because... I guess I just thought having an impersonal clinical psychologist talk at me about cognitive behavioral therapy would do nothing to solve the problems that were actually causing my depression. But if you really are considering killing yourself, I think you should seek help, even if it seems pointless, because you don't know for sure that it _won't_ work. It's an uphill climb, but half the battle is actually wanting to get better. Message me on Tumblr (the-cloud-whisperer) if you ever want to talk about anything. I can't guarantee that I will be able to help, but again, better than nothing.

Chapter notes on stuff like Long Shu and Long Niu's names here: archiveofourown dot org/works/7019827/chapters/34530591


	17. there is no war in Ba Sing Se

**A/N:** Chapter 17! I think I just have a thing for prime numbers. Anyways, I can't believe this is over, but holy shit, has it been a long journey 😊 Wow. I won't deny that sometimes it was like, agh, what's the point, but I'm glad I saw it through to the end.

 **TW for attempted suicide.**

* * *

 **LU TEN**

He dreams, or he occupies the space between waking and dreaming, for the figure standing before him in his cell cannot actually be Hanxin, but an apparition conjured up by his mind as it slowly dips into instability.

 _My greatest weapon is my voice,_ Hanxin says, its dulcimer lilt attesting to this statement. _You have witnessed it at its most lethal, after all._

"I have." Lu Ten's mind fancies him in the Azure Dragon armor, a costume of regret, having conveyed him to his death. "My love, help me. I want to leave here more than anything and be with you again. Help me escape this place, please."

 _You don't have your swords here, but you do have your voice._ Hanxin shakes his head sadly. _Use it to your advantage._

 _My voice._ He can work with that. It will take some effort, but he knows his enemy's weaknesses.

 _Leaves from the vine_

 _Falling so slow_

 _Like fragile, tiny shells_

 _Drifting in the foam_

 _Little soldier boy_

 _Come marching home_

 _Brave soldier boy_

 _Comes marching home_

His voice is nowhere close to its former strength, pitches splitting and sustained notes wavering in a frank concession to all that he has endured. He soldiers on, sure of his audience, driving himself to make her feel what he feels, need what he needs—an end to this suffering.

As his throat closes over the last syllable, he sighs and calls out to her. "Long Niu, please don't wait outside. You are welcome here."

Hanxin nods approvingly. _Let her come to you, already seeking answers, already at an imbalance. You hold her captive now._

The door edges open, and as he suspected, Long Niu lingers in the opening, unsure of herself, unlike before. She closes the door behind her but does not advance into the room.

 _She's afraid. She doesn't know of what, yet, but she knows that she should be._

"Ge- _er_ said you had something to tell me," she states without prompting.

He smiles, a contortion of cracked lips that approaches deranged, and Long Niu can't possibly fail to see it. He indicates the ground beside his pallet, his gesture wide and grand, to all appearances welcoming her to an official court audience when their reality is much humbler. She approaches and sedately lowers herself to the floor, sitting on her haunches and observing him, not without some suspicion. But what can he do to hurt her, as weak as he is now? She has nothing to fear, logically speaking.

"Why do you fight, Long Niu?"

She startles, not expecting this, and grows defensive out of surprise. "Who are you to ask?" she replies briskly. "My motives are not accountable to you."

"It's an easy question. I'm curious to know how alike we are, at the end of the day. Why do you fight?" He tilts his head to look straight into her eyes, their distant glow like the crystal lamps on the wall, eerie and unforgivingly cold. He does not touch her, does not even lean forward to draw closer, but she shifts, unnerved, and turns her gaze away.

"I'll tell you why _I_ fought. You know, because I'm not exactly fighting anymore." He sits back, leaning the weight of his torso on his hands behind him, legs extended before him. Even though it jars his still-aching arms, he is so tired of sitting up straight, of trying to maintain some discipline and coolness of disposition, which he will need if he is to bend Long Niu to his will.

"With my lips, I fought for the honor of the Fire Lord and the glory of our empire. But in my heart, I fought for our people, who might find a better life in the conquered Earth Kingdom. I fought for my men, who depended on me to keep them alive through three years of mortal conflict. I fought for my young cousins, who have yet to see the cruelty of war themselves.

"Zuko especially—Azula might have made a name for herself, who knows, but Zuko… he's always been one to see things in black and white, not red and green. In his eyes, all lives are sacred, even those of our sworn enemies. And I suppose it's partly because I taught him as much."

He remembers Zuko sitting on the lip of a dormant volcano, staring at the ground in aggrieved reverie as Lu Ten told him about the past Avatars' fates, about the injustice perpetrated by the Fire Nation that was theirs to shoulder. No, he would not have weathered the battlefield well, the meaninglessness of victories that only churn the tide of death higher.

"You so remind me of him," he says softly, and if he means to twist Long Niu's heart with emotion, he wrings his own out as well, and at least he does it with complete sincerity. She shudders, unable to open up with the same vulnerability that he is dishing out in morbid dollops still.

He stares over her shoulder at the shadowy outline of Hanxin, who bows his head at the gravity of Lu Ten's pronunciation. _Tell her what she needs to hear._

He pushes himself up off his arms and straightens his spine, face now on a level with hers, and though she has said nothing, he can tell that his intensified demeanor has struck her to the core. Her eyes of cold crystal are softening like jasmine tea reflecting warm sunlight. His voice will prevail.

"I know why you fight. Long Shu was right about you: you are deeply committed to serving the path of good and righteousness in this world, but that is not the path that your master walks. Why do you serve a master who values nothing but his own gain? What has he ever done for _you?"_

She glares at him, fierce in her defense of her master. "Nothing less than take me and my sister in and teach us his arts, everything that we know today—it's all because of him. I owe him everything."

"No." Lu Ten shakes his head calmly, as if this is a simple truth. "No, you don't know that. If he hadn't picked you up, someone else would have taken a shine to you. You would have made your own way; don't sell yourself short. You're talented, determined, and versatile. You don't need him as much as your people need you."

He starts in a near-whisper, as if imparting terrible secrets to her, and perhaps they _are_ secrets, whether they were truly unknown to her or whether she refused to know them—until now. Now, she has no choice but to listen.

"I have seen the wreckage of the Earth Kingdom, and it has only diminished in strength since you entered Long Feng's care sixteen years ago. I have seen entire villages burned to the ground. I have seen men sell off their daughters to the invading armies in an attempt to escape just such a fate. I have seen men who long for nothing more than their own deaths, if only to seek respite from a living hell, and I cannot help but agree with them.

"Meanwhile the Earth King remains powerless to stop any of this from happening. Your master controls him like a puppet, but he does not have the gall to do what it really takes to end this war. On his orders, all talk of the war is suppressed within the walls of the city. He cannot conscript men for a war that does not exist. The people of Ba Sing Se live in peace and prosperity while soldiers drafted from the outer provinces die in droves at the wall. It is no wonder that they fight with such low morale, knowing they are doomed to die without help from the very ones they are protecting.

"Long Feng could end the war with ten thousand men. The city holds many times that number, but to mobilize them would require him to disclose the illusion he has maintained all this time. He would rather let the kingdom fall to pieces than give up the little power he still has clutched in his fists. The lives of his subordinates mean nothing to him. He sacrificed dozens of your brothers and sisters at the Battle of Lake Laogai just for a sliver of a chance at eliminating me, and he failed.

"Tell me again why you still serve such a master?"

She has no answer, and as she stands, resolute, he feels his heart stutter, as if it has lost its chance to end its beating forever. He cannot give up, though.

"Long Shu thinks I know who the Avatar is. For the record, I don't, but if Long Feng continues the war the way he has conducted it so far, it won't matter. Ba Sing Se will fall long before the fully-realized Avatar even comes into the picture."

She sighs, an admission in a whoosh of tired air, drained of all energy. "I know."

 _I know you know. You would not have listened to me for so long if you didn't._

"There is nothing left I can offer you in the way of knowledge, nothing that can endear you to your master, who so clearly favors your sister anyways." He smiles sardonically. "With no more purpose in captivity, I am now what you would call 'broken.'"

She takes a deliberate step towards the door, as if distancing herself by even one pace away from him will relieve the pain of these jagged truths. "You offered me your wisdom; that is different from knowledge."

He shakes his head. "All the things I have said… you knew them already. You were just afraid to take matters into your own hands, to defy a master you know is not worthy of you."

She takes another step and looks back at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion once again. "Nothing comes without a price."

 _Indeed._ "You are right. There is one thing I would ask of you."

"What is it?"

Hanxin stands by his side now, and if he concentrates, Lu Ten can imagine that pale hand resting on his shoulder in comfort, so close and yet immeasurably separated, but not for much longer.

"On the southwest shores of Lake Laogai grows mourning blossom, a flower with small, white petals and leaves like butterfly wings," he says, seeing it in his memories even now. "Do not pluck its blooms, and avoid breaking the stem. If you can bring it here with its roots intact, so much the better. I need it… to facilitate the next step in my journey."

She gathers his intent, and immediately, the rock gloves she keeps hidden away spring into action, closing around his neck without squeezing, merely resting over his pulse. "Why not just like this?"

He looks up at her, throat bared but for a pair of stone hands. "There is you to think about," he retorts. "Long Feng will not react kindly if he finds out you strangled me to death in my cell. But if you get me that flower, it can stay our little secret."

She retracts the gloves, holding his gaze for one long moment. Then she turns and is gone.

 _Soon,_ Hanxin murmurs, patient as ever.

Soon.

* * *

 **LONG SHU**

"Your information has been invaluable, Shu- _er,"_ Long Feng remarks. He steeples his fingers in concentration, elbows resting on the arms of his grand, throne-like chair. Long Shu stands at the desk across from him, its stone surface spread with multiple sheets of paper detailing all the knowledge she took down from Lu Ten's admissions. "With some more forethought and detailed planning, we will be able to counteract the Fire Nation's most intricate battle plans and stop them in their tracks. They have tasted defeat once, and with repeated sampling, their appetite for war can only wane until it fades entirely, and they go crawling back to their islands like worms."

She grimaces subtly at his candid imagery. "I am glad to have been able to help," she says, the correct response, prepared and prim.

"If not you, then whom? Since you were a child, I have known." Long Feng's frown is thunderous in his disappointment. The firelight at his back, dowsed in green light from the wall lamps, casts his silhouette in ominous shadow. "To end the war will require careful handling of our limited resources. No one can take up my mantle except you, and certainly not your sister. Her performance leaves much to be desired."

She shifts, uneasy, at his mention of Long Niu. He wouldn't bring it up if it weren't something that troubled him deeply. Her sister's failure must be graver in his eyes than she thought.

"A dragon has nine sons, each of them unique in their own right," she says courteously. "Master, she tried her best. You know that Niu- _er_ and I have absorbed your teachings differently, and that neither of our ways is superior to the other's. Though she did not achieve the intended result, her skills are not without value."

"Hm." He relaxes his hands, folding them before him on the desk, no longer analyzing with cold logic but speaking from the heart, full of wrath. "If it was only a question of her skill, I might not contest her worth quite so much. Her dedication is lacking as well."

Long Shu bristles at how contemptuously he speaks of her sister, as if he had never wanted to take her in at all. It's only recently that he has been so venomous about Long Niu, and she wonders if the strain of managing the city and the war effort is getting to him. No, her master is not an irrational, reactive man. If he speaks his mind, he truly embodies it, and more likely than not, he has felt this way for a time now.

"Master, Niu- _er_ mentioned to me before I came here that she would like to go up to the surface for some fresh air, to recharge." She steels herself in justification of her sister's actions. "Forgive me for saying this, but I don't believe it's selfish of her to take some time for herself. You have high expectations for us, but Niu- _er_ will come no closer to reaching them if you hinder her capacity to rest and replenish her fortitude. Torture and interrogation is not easy on us anymore than it is on our prisoner."

"That is not what I speak of," he says flatly. "Her dedication to our cause, more specifically her loyalty—is in question."

 _"What?"_ Long Shu did not expect… this. "How can you question her loyalty?"

"Before you ran into her in the hallway outside his cell, she had a very long conversation with Lieutenant Colonel Lu Ten, a conversation from which she emerged much more ambivalent about her duties as a Dai Li agent." He seems to be hinting at something, seeing if she will catch it before he throws her another clue. "Carving out the time to go up to the lake and pick some wildflowers to brighten up your rooms? You know this is unheard of for either of you. No, I have it on good evidence that she went up to acquire something he requested."

She stares at him hard, her hellfire wit usually so quick to connect the pieces, but now unable or unwilling to comprehend…

"Something to speed him on his way, in a manner of speaking." Long Feng remains occult as ever. It's as if he wants Long Niu to commit some misdeed so that he can have an excuse to dismiss her. "We've been going over strategies for the past four hours, give or take. Niu- _er_ should have had ample time to make her trip there and back. I expect she'll be heading to visit Lu Ten even now with a little gift in hand—wouldn't you like to see what it is?"

It's malice, pure malice and bitter venom that trickles through his voice, as if he wants his disciple to fail, as if her betrayal will bring him nothing but joy. This is not the master who adopted them both and raised them to who they are today. She knows that he puts his own interests before the kingdom's, but she thought that… well, that she and Long Niu would at least be counted among these interests.

She stands, heart beating as quick as a hummingbird's, and normally she would bow in respect before leaving, but there is no time for that, not with this apparent betrayal in the balance. _This is madness._ If she reaches Long Niu before he does, perhaps she can at least talk some sense into her sister before the hand of judgment strikes.

He watches her fly to the door, vaguely amused, and listens to it clang shut in her haste. Once, once is forgivable. Long Niu's transgression? Not so much.

LLL

She throws the door open, fearing that she is too late, and before her, they two stand frozen as monoliths, just an arm's embrace apart. From Niu- _er's_ fingers dangle a single flower, its stem and roots unbroken, its white blossom bleeding a stark contrast amid the somber hues of the cell.

"Niu _-er,"_ she gasps, some part of her having thought her disciple-sister couldn't possibly be capable of betrayal. That is all it takes for Lu Ten to gather that she is here to stop them, and he lunges for the flower.

"No!"

Long Shu's stone hands close around his elbows, forcing him to drop his prize, and his expression is wild as they drag him to the ground, eyes popping, teeth bared, his breaths coming heavy and labored like a dying thing.

 _Is he not?_

"Niu- _er,_ how could you? What were you thinking?" she exclaims, pointing at her sister's greatest mistake writhing on the ground between them. "His life is not ours to squander! Our master has a purpose for which we keep him alive, or have you forgotten?!"

She is only this enraged out of concern for her sister's fate. Long Feng's word is law, even if it is not reason. She doubts that Lu Ten's purpose is particularly relevant anymore, but that does not give them free reign to help him kill himself.

"But why?" Niu- _er_ says in an anguished whisper, her eyes torn between the other two. "If everything he gave you is true, then what more need do we have of him? Why not let him go?"

Long Shu shakes her head. That is not the point. "Without our master's explicit orders, your interference is essentially treason. You _knew_ that when you set out for the lake."

"Do you expect me to obey my human master, or my divine one?" she asks, tone intense and loaded like a balance about to tip one way, in favor of what? "Long Feng, or the discernment of right and wrong?"

 _What is this?_ "Niu- _er_ … what did he say to you?" She looks at Lu Ten, kneeling on the floor in silence. "What did you tell her?!"

"Only as much as you told me," he says, and there it is again, that undercurrent of madness bubbling in his core, threatening to rise to the surface, his descent into inhumanity complete. "Your master is right; Long Niu's quality falls far below your own. A few whispered words was all it took to convince her of what I needed." He laughs, briefly but with abandon. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I am beyond your control now."

With that, he turns toward the wall at his side and rears his head back—

"Lu Ten!" Niu- _er_ gasps, anticipating.

—and violently smashes his head into the merciless, cold stone, once, twice, over and over, hoping to split his skull along its seams and chase his dizzying demise.

Long Shu reacts, a cylinder of stone raising itself out of the floor to encircle him, molding itself to his form to completely restrain him, and he stares up at her in blinding rage.

"You can't stop me," he hisses. Blood trickles down from his scalp line, framing his face in shimmering, nauseating rivulets. " _I will have this."_

She raises her hand to strike definitively, her eyes cold with fury at his defiance; Niu- _er_ falls to her knees. "Please, sister, don't hurt him!" She shuffles over to her sister, begging for clemency. "Don't you see he's suffered enough?"

"Go on, then," he goads, his voice sing-song, daring her to finish what has beenstarted. "Or are you too afraid of your master?"

"Long Shu," her sister sobs, clutching at her hem like a lifeline. "Don't end it like this, _please._ We've already done so much to him. Please don't hurt him… he deserves better."

" _Coward._ Just do it or let me do it myself. _"_ He is completely gone. She wonders if there even is any more Lu Ten to bury at this point, or if all she can do is put down this pathetic creature in an act of mercy.

 _Push anything too far and it will break,_ she thinks sadly. _A hungry orphan like myself, stealing and casting the blame on others. Niu_ -er, _Long Feng and Lu Ten playing tug-of-war with her mind, reducing her to well-meant treachery. And this… once a commander of men, now not even in command of himself._

Pity pierces her heart like a rose thorn, a beautiful concept but so painful in reality. With a final resolute gesture, she lowers her hand and seals a band of stone over his mouth so that at least he can no longer shriek his death wish to the unlistening walls.

"Niu- _er,_ get up."

Her sister looks up at the hand offered to her, face tear-streaked and flushed from emotion, and struggles to her feet.

"This misstep of yours is not to be overlooked _,"_ she tells her sister seriously. "But he's still alive, so count yourself lucky. We have spent so many years serving our master. I am sure he will give you a second chance."

"It's a bit late for that."

Long Feng is here.

LLL

She leaves Ge- _er_ to watch over their prisoner after their master leads Niu- _er_ away. She would keep the vigil herself, but she feels that she cannot stay a moment longer with their prisoner, and Ge- _er_ is not completely incapable.

In her room, she examines the flower taken from the lake shore, its white petals already starting to wither. Mourning blossom, she realizes, having been told in childhood to stay away from the plant, especially if its stem was broken. Niu- _er_ was born and raised in Ba Sing Se, where the flower does not grow, and would not have recognized it.

 _It's a shame to let it go to waste,_ she thinks, reaching for a small bowl as she splits the stalk of the flower in two. She lets the glutinous sap drip out. _It's a shame not to have a reason to use it._

She does not know what punishment Long Feng has in mind for her sister, but she is sure it will not be pleasant, at best ending in her dismissal from the Dai Li, and at worst… Would he really kill her? Long Shu is beginning to think that there is nothing he is not capable of.

She shouldn't have told Lu Ten about the history between Niu- _er_ and her. He was too clever, twisting it to his advantage and driving her to do the unthinkable. She shakes her head self-deprecatingly; a genius after the fact is no genius at all, and her sister will pay the price for it.

LLL

She spends the rest of the night in a half-slumber, the events of the day having worn her down emotionally. Still, she cannot truly rest before knowing what will happen to Niu- _er._

Long Feng's summons arrives shortly after dawn, and she hastens to his office, dreading what she will learn. He is standing behind his desk when she enters, absorbed in staring at a folding screen far to the corner of the room. Like all his décor, it is subtly stylish but not overly gaudy. Its surface depicts a qilin, the mythical creature of benevolence and kindness, with its body of a horse covered in fish scales, its dragon's head adorned with a single antler. It sails through the air, its body fanning through multiple panels enshrouded in clouds.

"Master." She bows, peeking up at his unmoved profile and wondering what he finds so interesting about the new addition to his office. It's just a decoration.

"Shu- _er,_ there is someone I would like you to meet," he says without any introduction.

"Master," she interrupts, not wanting to be headed off with some other official business. Her sister is her priority right now. "Niu- _er_ was wrong to act as she did, but she was not in her right mind. She was hoodwinked by Lu Ten, otherwise she would never have tried to aid him. Please, master, do not be over harsh with her."

He holds up a hand, grimly pausing her train of thought. "Niu- _er's_ punishment is not your decision to make. She betrayed my trust, and she has paid the consequences. There is someone I would like you to meet."

He waits until she inclines her head, understanding that no argument will sway him. Only then does he turn to face her and reaches for a silver bell on his desk. Its frail ringing is tiny and cowed in the silent, high hall of Long Feng's lair. She looks at him, wondering who or what he means to summon.

Behind the screen, someone stirs, and Long Shu turns to face them. The silhouette stands and steps out to reveal its identity.

"Hello, my name is Joo Dee. Welcome to Ba Sing Se. We're so lucky to have our walls to create order."

Long Shu bites down hard on her tongue to keep from screaming.

It's Niu- _er,_ but it's not her. She's changed, and not just in appearance. Dressed in elegant though simple silk robes, her hair is shorter, half up and half down, but the most repulsive thing is the blankness of her eyes, her face unfeeling even as she expresses words of welcome and security. It's the flatness of her voice, droll and without inflection, as if she doesn't know what she is saying and has merely been programmed to recite these words.

It's… abominable. She looks to Long Feng for an explanation, but he positively preens with smugness at her lost expression.

"What do you think of my experiment? It's been on my mind for several years now, and at last, I took the opportunity to use a live subject, to brilliant success." His self-adulatory praise holds no shred of regret for what he has done _,_ nor any sympathy for Long Shu's shock and horror. "Joo Dee will be an invaluable promoter of order in Ba Sing Se, greeting all fresh arrivals with the information they need to live peacefully in the city. The Dai Li work in the dark, but she will operate in the light, making clear to our newest citizens what is and is not acceptable to discuss in Ba Sing Se."

So this is his purpose, to tighten his control over the city even more and prevent anyone from speaking out against the Dai Li's misdeeds. She swallows her apprehension and stands tall; she can afford no misgivings right now.

"Then I must congratulate you, master. Your diligence in protecting the security of the city knows no limits." Indeed, it does not.

Niu- _er_ (no, it's Joo Dee now) continues to stand there, her face vacantly sweet. Long Feng smiles, seeming to accept her display of loyalty. "I hope to gradually train more Joo Dees and assimilate them into the city over time. Until then, there is someone else to whom I plan to apply my results: Lieutenant Colonel Lu Ten.

"He continues to withhold the identity of the Avatar from us, and there may be more besides that he refuses to share. His knowledge is too valuable to discard in death, but right now, he is too much of a suicide risk. I don't care to waste my agents' time on guarding him when there is another way to keep him in check: by brainwashing him into a new identity."

"Are the effects reversible?" She tries not to sound hopeful, but if there is any chance she can recover Niu- _er_ from the prison of Joo Dee's person, she will take it.

He shakes his head. "Not at my present level of experimentation, which is why I want to resettle Lu Ten into his new persona as soon as possible. If, at some point in the future, I manage to devise a way both to mine hidden memories and restore old ones, then he may finally finish serving his purpose. Until then, we can rehabilitate him as a relatively well-adjusted refugee from the outer provinces, place him in the city under a retired operative's supervision, and await the progression of my research."

"What if his memory comes back in the meantime?" she asks.

"Then we terminate him," he says simply. "Some risks cannot be taken, and that includes him remembering everything that has happened to him and turning against the Dai Li as a result."

His plan is all so… theoretical, unlike the master she knows, who deals in concrete facts and steel statistics. But she cannot disagree with him, not if it means risking losing his faith in her as well.

After he dismisses her, she walks back to her room in a daze, replaying her sister's last words to her.

 _Please don't hurt him… he deserves better._

The flower, now completely wilted, lies on her desk beside the bowl of poisonous sap. She closes her eyes, bitterly grateful for a moment. She has reason to use it now.

* * *

 **LU TEN**

The door opens. It's Long Feng alone this time, a rare occasion. In one hand, he holds a lit stone lantern. He circles Lu Ten silently, and of course Lu Ten has nothing to say to this, still gagged from Long Shu's last visit.

Long Feng stops in front of him. "Everything will be all right," he says, his tone neither comforting nor ironically menacing. Lu Ten arches an eyebrow, his means of expression rather limited, but Long Feng only looks back at him placidly and repeats, "Everything will be all right."

At a curt command, the stone gag falls, and he breathes freely as Long Feng steps back. Despite the reassurances, he only feels an impending sense of doom. The saying always goes that the student surpasses the master, but he isn't so sure here. The master's plan for him will likely be even more cruel and unusual than what his disciples saw fit to dole out, and he's not eager to learn the hard way.

From the floor around him, Long Feng raises a perfect circumference of stone with himself at its center, its top surface grooved all the way around like a water trough. He rests the stone lantern in the trench and folds his hands into his sleeves, looking grimly at his victim.

"The Earth King has invited you to Lake Laogai," he says. "Do you accept his invitation, Lu Ten?"

… _what is he talking about?_ As he puzzles over this, Lu Ten notes the stone lantern begin to move in its track, its smooth, circular trajectory going round and round. He follows the bright flame with his gaze as it orbits the center, and slowly, he finds himself falling into a trancelike state.

Before his eyes flash the memories of two decades past, things he remembers fondly, not so fondly, things he did not know he still remembered, things he wishes he could forget forever. Names, places, conversations, faces. His mother, his father, Aunt Ursa, Zuko. The men of the 18th regiment. Hanxin. Long Niu. Long Shu. They all rise to the top of his mind like steam from a boiling pot, but what lies in its depths?

The lantern's revolutions continue, and time grinds to a halt here. Here, there is only the flash of light every time the flame comes around, and the sound of Long Feng's voice, a low murmur that he cannot make out against the roar of his memories. It is not until he realizes he cannot remember his mother's name that he begins to have some inkling of what is happening.

"What are you doing?" he asks, somewhat unnecessarily, his words thick and slurred.

Long Feng does not answer, and the light continues to whirl through his field of vision. His mother's face has long since been lost to him, but now he cannot see his father's face either, nor anyone in his family. He is not sure he even had one.

"No…" This can't be happening. " _No…_ stop. _Stop."_ He is inside a grand complex of buildings, a palace of sorts, but he cannot remember any of the places he used to go. There are people around him, but he does not know any of their names.

"Stop… stop this. I say, stop this! You can't do this to me!" He twists effortfully against his bonds, but it is futile. "No, stop!"

It is night, he is standing amid a crowd of people under a sky bright with fireworks. Where he is, whose tiny hand is tightly cradled in his, he does not know.

 _"Lu Ten, look!" That tiny hand points skyward, and a brilliant firecracker lights the sky with the word 'peace'._

Who is Lu Ten?

It is day, he is crouched low to the ground as the overpowering smell of sulfur and acrid smoke fill his nose, and bodies dot the ground all around him. He does not know who the fallen are, or what brought them down, but he does know whose hand clamps down hard on his shoulder, trying to pull him back from the wreckage before him.

Hanxin.

Who is Hanxin?

He does not know, but he knows that he made a promise to this Hanxin. He swore never to forget him.

"No…" he chokes out. "No, Hanxin, _Hanxin…"_

He can't forget Hanxin. He must not. He hangs on to the name desperately, and for a long moment, it seems the memories associated with that name will prevail. A dazzling voice singing verses so broad and heartfelt, a shaky hand tracing characters in the dirt, a sword at his throat, a hand at his waist, passionate kisses in the dark, a last embrace, tight enough to hurt, and he does not know why these matter, but only that they do, that he cannot, _he cannot lose Hanxin—_

The light seems to shine brighter, and the name is on the tip of his tongue—

"—I said I would never forget you, Hanxin, no, _no…"_

He struggles, clinging to the name, those two syllables imprinted on his mind, but slowly, he wearies, his body going limp, his tired, tired brain wondering what it is that he was trying to remember all along.

Hanxin?

And then, nothing.

* * *

 **LONG SHU**

"I have finished wiping his old memories. Now, his mind is preparing to populate itself with plausible new memories appropriate to his time in Ba Sing Se. Judging from your reports, he has extensive knowledge of life in the Earth Kingdom from his travels through the northwest territories." Long Feng explains his strategy as Long Shu joins him. His hands remain at his sides, the eternal revolution of the stone lantern on its track controlled only by the slight roll and twist of his fingers. "I am thinking that Pao would be an acceptable placement for him. He might be less than happy wasting his time brewing tea for a living, but heaven knows there are worse ways to live. You wouldn't happen to know his birthdate, would you?"

She watches the lantern revolve, passing before the restrained figure, eyes now blank and staring straight ahead, wiped of terror and all emotion. "Qingming Festival, in about two weeks. He will be twenty-one."

"Ah. I merely wondered if he was older than he looks, and whether he's of an age to have a wife yet. Or at least to have had one. He did cling to the name of one Hanxin for a disproportionately long time, so I couldn't be sure."

Long Shu shrugs, catching her irreverent gesture a second later, and her eyes quickly dart towards her master. He does not seem to have noticed her misstep and continues with his unaffected monologue.

"I suppose Niu- _er_ could have served that purpose, but even I can see that what slight charm she possessed would have been wasted on accompanying Lu Ten into his miserable new life. No, as Joo Dee, she will be far better suited to my needs."

 _Niu-_ er… Long Shu thinks helplessly, not for the first time today, full of regret for her younger sister. _She can't be gone. She must still be in there somewhere._

 _I will come for you, sister, as soon as I am finished with this one._

LLL

A few hours later, Long Feng emerges from the cell. With one look at him, Long Shu knows that he has finished the hypnosis at last.

"It is done," he reports, tired but triumphant. "Lu Ten is no longer Lu Ten. Tomorrow, we may begin the process of moving him to his new surroundings in Ba Sing Se. As an alleged refugee, he will need some time to adjust, but I am confident that his transition will be a complete success."

"I am glad though unsurprised to hear it," she says stiffly. And she _is_ glad. If everything is as Long Feng says he has done, then she will have references for how he did it, and potential leads on how to reverse his damage.

"I took the liberty of preparing a celebratory drink for you, master." In her hands rests a tray with a bronze flagon of wine and two cups. "I knew you would not fail." She pours the wine out within his sight and deliberately places one cup on the edge of the tray closer to him, another closer to herself, and extends the tray towards him.

He looks uncertain for a split second; this is not how Long Shu normally conducts herself. She is distant and formal, rarely familiar enough to presume to celebrate with him. But his delight from succeeding with Lu Ten's brainwashing overwhelms him, and he decides to take the risk. She hopes she has anticipated him correctly.

His hand hovers over the cup offered to him, then passes it over, reaching instead for the cup closer to Long Shu. The wine inside is the same: pale and clear, a faint astringent odor and biting burn as it goes down the throat. He suspects, and he makes his choice accordingly. She takes the other cup with a sense of relief.

"I had high hopes for you, Long Shu."

 _And I for you? No, not at all._

He raises his wine in cheers to her, and she does the same. They hide behind thick sleeves as they drink simultaneously, each cup no more than a mouthful. Once the cups are empty, she waits patiently.

She notices the change in him half a breath before he realizes it himself: a tightening of the muscles, a contracture that cannot be relaxed. He stares at her, his pupils constricting, fear and disbelief ruling him now. She revels in the pain in his expression, wanting it to be just as much as Niu- _er_ and Lu Ten felt when he took away their memories and personhood. Now she will take his—permanently.

He collapses to the ground, still refusing to go all the way down, shaking on his hand and knees and sucking in pained breaths. His lungs will cease to function shortly, and then it will be over. She watches him from high above, passive and uncaring.

"You truly are… my greatest… legacy," he gasps out, and then he fails, dropping to the floor with a heavy thud, and says no more.

 _Always has to have the last word_. Long Shu does not bother saying anything or checking for a pulse. A man like Long Feng does not deserve to have any accompaniment in his last moments.

She steps over his body and passes into the cell that holds what was once Lu Ten. He lies seemingly comatose, and it will take some time for his memories to settle, especially in sleep; Long Feng made that much clear to her before the end.

 _I'm sorry._ It is no use to apologize at this point, but there is nothing else she can do. She does not have the means to turn the clock back, to rewind the cogs of their minds and undo what Long Feng has wrought there. Regret and woe are all she can offer. For Long Niu's sake, however, she will keep him alive in the hope that he will live to see better days.

He opens his eyes, cloudy and unfocused at first, and gradually, he fixes a bemused gaze on her. She takes a deep breath.

"Hello, Mushi."

* * *

 **A/N:** …and that's a wrap. Now, we fast forward about five years until Zuko is 16 and the events of the series' plot begin. Continue following Lu Ten's trials and tribulations in _blood in the breeze_ (probably starting chapter 3). Thank you so much for sticking with this insanely long and circuitous side fic (can it be called that if it's longer than any of the main fics? :D) Thoughts on the author's development of this overall plot are available in the notes.

Archiveofourown dot org/works/7019827/chapters/34712120

Also, for any old (or new) readers who are just catching up to the last few chapters, I want to share this beautiful art that god-of-dust on Tumblr made for this fic! It's based on chapter 10, when Lu Ten and Hanxin go to Lake Laogai. Check it out here! (does FFN allow me to directly copy and paste pictures into the chapter? Why must this be so difficult D: )

god-of-dust dot tumblr dot com/post/174921332422/finally-finished-it-hanxin-and-lu-ten-having-a


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